


Supply and Demand 4: Scarce Skills

by tari_roo



Series: Supply and Demand [4]
Category: Stargate Atlantis, Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crossover, Empath!Dean, Gen, Hell Dimension, Hurt/Comfort, Marine!Castiel, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Tentacles, Whump, ick factors, smart!Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-14
Updated: 2017-10-24
Packaged: 2017-12-20 05:09:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 89,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/883310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tari_roo/pseuds/tari_roo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Life on Atlantis is about to get very interesting as the Trust launch their newest plan. Good thing Dean is still onboard, as the ‘interesting’ gets weird… fast</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, at last – instalment four!! I know it’s taken far longer than I initially said and I wish I had a better excuse besides RL and other plot bunnies hijacking me but I don’t. Part 5 of Supply and Demand will be posted in parallel to this story and Part 5 will revolve around Sam and his search for Dean. I have posted a summary/cheat sheet on the previous stories as the final chapter on each story for those who have a) forgotten what happened or b) skipped a story because they didn’t know the series. Enjoy. 
> 
> Warnings: This is AU for SPN season three onwards and set post season five. No real spoilers for either series but you should really know them both

“Run! Come on, Major!” Sgt Jones shot an anxious look behind him as he ran full out, scanning for Major Durov. The guy was struggling, but keeping pace, the Lt. doggedly guarding their rear and hurrying the Major along. The frigging Gate was still two klicks away up a damn hill, but at least safety was in sight. Winchester, fast bastard that he was, was pulling ahead and Jones dug in, not wanting to let the newbie outrun him.

The snap and crack of the wildfire behind them was scarily audible, the air thick with smoke, the soft greeny blue sky overhead lost in a haze. Even further behind them, miles and miles away but still visible, a massive storm built momentum over the plains, the fire racing ahead of it. Jones grimaced as he felt the wind pick up, brushing against his hot face. The fire was fast, and they were faster but all it would take was a surge of wind fed oxygen and they’d be cooked – literally. Lt Kim was shouting something that sounded an awful lot like, “Shit, shit, run!” and Jones did just that – he frigging ran!

Over the pounding of his pulse in his ears, the syncopated bootsteps of his running team, their ragged breathing, Jones heard the surge of the fire, the dull roar of dry, tinderbox grass and trees consumed in seconds. Pushing hard, Jones hit the rise of the hill up to the Gate and powered up the incline, heart and legs burning. Winchester was nearing the top already, almost invisible in the smoke. The air was thicker, filled with fumes and smoke and he could barely see the top or the Gate. Abruptly the wormhole of the Gate engaged, pushing back the smoke like a wave of water. Hope blossomed in his chest, spiking his adrenalin and Jones risked a glance back and saw Durov close on his heels, Kim pushing him up the hill, a hand pressed on his back. “Go, go!”Kim yelled because shit, the fire was close.

Sweating like crazy, his hands, vest and face drenched, Jones crested the hill and paused for half a second to take it all in. The entire plain of grassland to the east was on fire, the flames racing outwards towards the hills and mountains to the west. The winds from the storm were growing, the handful of trees on the hill fluttering like flags. The clouds far in the distance were black and monstrous, and lightning danced along the base of the storm, flickering arcs and jabs of light. Dull, barely audible thunder rolled across the plain, lost in the roar of the fire. Winchester was hovering near the event horizon of the Gate, his face bathed in cool blue light, versus Kim and Durov who were highlighted in reds and oranges as they struggled up the hill. Durov reached the top not long after Jones and didn’t stop, sprinting for the Gate. Kim grabbed Jones and dragged him, and Jones let him, running as well, the heat and flames of the fire racing towards them.

It took maybe three seconds to reach the Gate and run through but during the whirlwind rush of Gate travel, Jones swore he could still feel the heat of the flames that surged up behind them. Stepping out into the Gate room brought instant relief, from the heat of the last world and the ice of the wormhole. Blinking and shaking his head, Jones twisted to check the back of his tac vest, certain there’d be scorch marks. Kim was leaning forward, bent over his knees, breathing hard, while Durov was flat on his back, chest heaving. Winchester was still on his feet, looking too damn fresh for his own good but also breathing hard.

From the gallery Chuck yelled, “You ok? Need a medic?”

Jones waved him off, giving the ‘all clear’ sign and Chuck nodded.

“Shit, Major. I don’t care what you say, you’re joining morning madness,” Lt. Kim gasped. “There is no way I am pushing your ass up a hill again.” He looked sideways at Durov, his face red and flushed.

“Da, I need to run. But first… vodka.” Major Durov rolled over and clambered to his feet, P90 knocking against his chest as he did so. He straightened with a groan and slapped Winchester on the arm, knocking him slightly. “You do good, Deano.”

“I’m just surprised he remembered the address,” Jones laughed and Dean rolled his eyes. “One time, Sgt., one time I get one symbol wrong and you’re like a dog with bone – just can’t let it go.”

Kim laughed as well and Jones snorted, “Two words, Winchester – Space Gate.”

“And I have three words for you, ‘Automatic Warning System!’ – what kind of morons build a system of interstellar travel without some sort of warning system when people are about to walk into a shiny whirlpool of death, that dumps them into space!” Dean pointed at Jones, sweat still beading his face.

“All the frigging glyphs light up, Winchester. And if you don’t figure that out quick, it’s one way of weeding out the stupid and moronic from the galaxy,” Jones smirked, wiping his own brow with his sleeve, feeling a keen thirst growing.

Laughing heartily, his beard looking a little singed, Durov boomed, “Enough. This is argument I have heard too often.” He looked up at Chuck and bellowed, “Charles, mission report will be filed soon but we found nothing. All clear.”

“You sure?” Chuck asked, walking down the stairs towards them, tapping away on his tablet.

“Da,” the Major nodded. “Planet still empty, lots of ruins, no signs of ‘visitors’ of an untrustworthy nature.”

“So what the hell happened to you guys?”

Kim and Jones looked at Dean, who shrugged and Durov boomed, “It was lightning. A big storm, lots of lightning and whamo… trees on fire.” Chuck raised his eyebrows and nodded in sympathy. “Kay, well Biro is running Decon and AM, so you should be in time for dinner.”

“Yes,” Jones beamed and fistpumped the air. Nudging Winchester, he said, “Come on.” Dean shot the Lt. and the Major a brief glance before nodding and trotting off with Sgt. Jones. As the pair drew out of earshot, Chuck sighed and asked quietly, “Everything go ok?”

Lt. Kim piped up ahead of Durov and replied firmly, “Fine. No issues at all.”

Durov shrugged though and rumbled, “Fine, da. No issues, da. He remains very guarded. Uncertain around us.”

“Come on, Major it’s only been a few weeks, nearly a month and we’re actively looking for the SOBs who kidnapped him. Of course he’s going to be guarded,” Kim exclaimed, waving his hand in Winchester’s direction.

Rubbing his face, burying his fingers in his beard, Durov studied Kim and Chuck before continuing, “I agree. Is understandable.”

“But?” Chuck added, tapping his tablet nervously and looking around, scanning the immediate area. The Gate began to light up with an incoming wormhole, and the Tech on watch called out, “Gate activation.” The response team on duty gathered and Durov and Kim turned as the shield activated.

“IDC confirmed!”

Team Vasquez stepped through the wormhole, Dr Parish exclaiming loudly, mid-sentence in what was probably a lecture that had started an hour ago on the walk back to the Gate. Captain Vasquez gave the response team the ‘all-clear’ and the Gate personnel relaxed moderately. Without turning back to Chuck, Durov said quietly, “Charles, the Colonel asked me to watch Winchester. I am watching him.”

With that, the tall hefty Russian ambled off, waving idly at Parish who continued to ramble on even as he waved back. Kim rolled his eyes, slapped Chuck’s arm and said brightly, “The guy’s paranoid. Dean’s fine.” 

*sga*spn*sga*spn*sga*spn*sga*spn*sga*spn*sga*spn*sga*spn*sga*spn*sga*spn*sga*spn

The wind was howling outside, the early dawn sky dark and heavy with clouds and rain and a definite chill ran through the halls of Atlantis. Thunder rumbled in the distance and the crash of waves against the nearest pier was loud enough to reach the living quarters in Building N2

Teldy grumbled softly, her murmur muffled by layers of furs and blankets on the bed, as Dean moved, letting in a gust of cold air. He fumbled for his radio in the dim gloom, snagged it and popped it in his ear, adjusting the frequency as he did so.

“Come on, Winchester,” Teldy whined, from the bed as he opened the blankets again. “You’re like a friggin’ robot. Same time, no matter what rotation we’re on.”

“It’s a gift, “ Dean murmured, pulling her close, the delicious warmth of their bed and her soft skin, very inviting. Teldy grumbled indistinctly and dozed off, or at least pretended to – wishing the cold morning away. Dean tucked her head against his shoulder and watched the cloud tossed sky through the window, an array of blue and black shades in a cauldron of a storm. Flashes of yellow and orange appeared as the sun tried to poke its way through, the wind scattering the clouds as fast as it gathered them.

Three clicks on the radio sounded softly in his ear, and preceded Chuck’s far too cheerful voice, “ _Good Morning, Atlantis_!” It seemed Kovach had had a chat to Chuck about the Robin William’s impression – the volume of the ‘good morning’ was not ear splitting today. “ _Here is the surf report for today. Just in case you missed it, were asleep or stuck in stasis, yesterday was sync day and Atlantis calendars lost two days. So check your earth report deadlines and mailing due dates. They’re probably closer (or missed, Kovach) than you think. Earth-light savings will take place next month. Next month, Mikilai. Next month!_ ”

Chuck broke off, no doubt to argue with Mikilai as always when it came to Earth-light savings time. Dean smiled, and resisted the urge to tickle Teldy – she didn’t react well to that, usually. “ _For those of you on off days, the mainland is currently impersonating a swamp in a hurricane. SMALP reports that Raguu, Little Venice and Mitchell’s Folly have 100 degree plus weather with low humidity. Hoth is mild enough for a snow day, but be sure to take snow goggles. New Athos is having a fantastic display of Fall colours and the purple cedars are pretty impressive. For the retail inclined, the market on Sonar is underway, and dawn on Sonar is at 14h00 Atlantis time. The Bugs are playing the festival on Old Hayn. Sync with Old Hayn is 20h00 to 08h00 Atlantis time roughly. Shut up, Mikilai!”_

Chuck’s voice faded to a mumble, no doubt arguing the specifics with Mikilai as usual. _“For the rest of us on City Rotation and Duty Rosters, there is a McKay warning on Central Tower levels three and four, W3 and Jumper Bay Aft. Messhall news – Tucker is down with Gora flu so Harker is on KP in Messhall Two.”_

Dean murmured softly to Teldy, “Messhall Three today.”

She grunted in reply.

 _“Last,”_ Chuck chirped, “ _the Daedulus is two days out and all debts are therefore due in three days. The Czech wishes to remind all IOUs for ATVodka of his payment terms – ‘Pay now, no McKay. Pay later, straight shifts in Physics’. And that’s all surfers. Frequency shift alpha left two.”_

Dean noted the frequency for tomorrow and planted a soft kiss on Teldy’s cheek. She opened her eyes, slits of colour behind dark eyelashes, fluttering in the darkness. “Hmmmmm? We’re both off, stay a while,” she murmured, pulling her pillow a little closer.

Bobbing his eyebrows and smiling, Dean leant forward and kissed her soundly, breaking off reluctantly. Teldy sighed, and ran her fingers through his hair, her thumb tracing his eyebrow.

“Messhall Three?”

“Messhall Three.”

The air in their room was decidedly chilly, the temperature dropping as dawn broke and Dean hurriedly pulled on his sweats and running shoes. Quietly, he tipped Teldy a small salute, as she sleepily watched him from the bed. Snatching up their laundry, Dean exited the room, the door opening silently. The nearest laundry chute was the way to Blue route and Dean dumped his armload in as he trotted past. Yellow and Red were the popular running tracks, with Blue fairly well liked but usually saved for a good long hard run. In the weeks since his arrival, Dean often ran it on his own, only meeting up with fellow morning madness run when Yellow and Red intersected down the main concourse and near the piers. Ronon and Sheppard preferred Black run, which wasn’t surprising since it was named after the Colonel. Blue was Ronon’s default when he was tired, bored or showing newbies around the City.

Sam would never believe that he was up at o-dark every morning, running.

Only Ronon and Sheppard were crazy enough to tackle Black every other day.

Dean picked up Blue near a great vista, a large open balcony behind fancy Ancient windows through which you could normally see the sunrise. Not today though. Today the sun was fighting off serious storm clouds and the sky remained dark and turbulent. No rain yet, but it was imminent.

Setting a steady, easy pace, Dean set off and tuned his radio to track three on the running frequencies. Zeppelin pumped through as his comm. found the frequency and Dean smiled to himef. ‘ _Trust in Chuck’_. Hard to believe that barely a few months ago, he’d struggled to keep up with Gibbs.

Twenty minutes and five klicks in at the concourse intersection, Kalen and Douw’s platoons fell in behind him, noisy and boisterous. Jones and Kim nodded amiably at Dean as slowly the running platoons enveloped him, so that he was running the middle of the group.

“Hall Three?” Jones chirped, face red and glistening with sweat.

“Yep.”

“Cool.”

“Where’s Durov?” Dean panted, and Lt. Kim rolled his eyes.

“Didn’t answer his door. Probably hiding in Messhall One,” Jones laughed. Dean grinned back and said, “He’s probably calling in a few markers. He owes Zelenka at least four bottles.”

“Ah, that’d be it,” Kim chuckled.

The Marines broke off for Black a klick later, most of the guys groaning as Kalen took the spilt for the stairs. Dean smirked at Kim’s crestfallen face as the Lt. followed the Marines up Black. He continued down Blue, picking up the pace, feeling the absence of the Marines shared camaraderie and buoyant emotions. Blue went down all the way to the West Pier and linked up with a Black option – a long hard run up the stairs of Central Tower.

The weather on the pier was like stepping into a hurricane – the rain had arrived swiftly, the wind fierce and strong, the waves crashing up and over the pier. Dean sprinted the short distance from the bottom of N2 to the Tower, and entered the warmer, quieter Central Tower stair well. Pausing to drink from the water fountain at the base of stairs and to shake some of the water off, Dean braced himself for the stairs.

Heavy bootsteps and a lighter tread echoed behind him and Dean felt the indomitable presence of Colonel Sheppard and Ronon approaching. He paused and sure enough, they entered from outside as cold and drenched.

“Winchester,” Sheppard greeted and Ronon nodded. Neither of them stopped, but took the stairs, Ronon edging out ahead immediately as his long legs took two stairs at a time. Grumbling to himself, Sheppard pushed to keep up, and they charged up the stairs. Dean shook his head and followed, their combined footsteps thudding on the stairs. Talking was impossible as the pace Ronon had set was pretty intense.

Dean did his best to keep up, but Ronon was already a good flight ahead of him, and Sheppard was chasing hard on Ronon’s heels. Heart pounding, sweat dripping off him, Dean pushed on, willing his body to keep up, breathing deep and hard but evenly. It was tough, but not impossible. He’d done it a couple of times already.

Far behind him several flight down, the two platoons of Marines burst into the stairwell, their voices loud and clear in the quiet of the long stairs. They might have come to the Black stairs via a longer, harder route, but they were hardly out of it. One loud, very distinct voice yelled, “Shit, the Colonel!” There was a collective mutter of agreement below and Dean felt the surge of determination run through them all. The answering thud of boots on the steps was fast and rushed.

“You better run, Colonel,” Dean muttered to himself.

It took a few minutes, but the Marines eventually caught Dean, swallowing him into their cohesive running unit again. “We meet again, Winchester,” Jones smirked as they edged past him but Dean dug a little deeper and maintained pace with the platoon, even though they were going faster than he liked. The Colonel and Ronon though were still far ahead, judging by the occasional glimpse of black BDUs and long dredds.

One fast paced flight turned into three and Dean managed to stay with the Marines until they reached the floor where Blue route picked up again. For about half a second, he contemplated staying with the race wanting to see if the platoon caught the Colonel. If he did though, he’d end up too exhausted to do more on his off day than sleep off a hard run, so he broke off to stay on Blue. Kalen, in front of his platoon, was trying to see how far ahead Sheppard was and Dean heard him shout, “Four flights, boys. Come on!”

In the quiet of this level of the tower, Dean finished off his run, barely paying attention to the dramatic sky unfolding outside. His quarters were two corridors and one level away from this terminus of Blue route and he gratefully trotted to a stop at the end of his circuit, breathing hard, drenched with sweat. He walked around, stretching out his muscles, feeling the burn in a few places. 

The corridor was quiet, most of the people living on this floor either still asleep or already up and about. Dean took a moment to watch the storm crash against the City, idly tracing the flow of lightning with his mind. The surge of electricity was raw and alive, and he pushed back the fear that rose in his throat at the memories electricity evoked. Instead, he siphoned off energy and distracted himself by forming handfuls of sparks and bursts of light. It was too pleasant a day to ruin with thoughts of tasers, rawheads or kinetics.

The sun appeared very briefly, a bright ball of grey tossed yellow, light spilling through the windows, when Dean felt the temperature drop. He paused, a ball of sparks and static energy in his right hand, _feeling_ a distinct presence coalesce behind him. The temperature continued to fall, his breath misting in the morning light, thick spears of sunlight filling the corridor. Slowly Dean turned cautiously, primed for action. Clouds surged and the area was plunged into gloom, the light choked off, and as Dean turned, the spectre a few feet away flickered into view.

It was hard to make out as it flashed and jittered, a pale, anguished face its most prominent feature. It alternated between a harsh scream, eyes wide and wild, and an arrogant, pained sneer. It didn’t look exactly human, too pale, too severe, but Dean couldn’t be entirely certain. Carefully, he flicked a few sparks at the ghost, and it hissed in response, backing off, putting more distance between them.

“You sure are fugly,” Dean muttered, watching it carefully. The spectre hovered and flickered in place, watching him back. Curiosity kept Dean from instantly banishing the thing, curious as to why it was just watching him. Ghosts weren’t normally the cautious type – in fact their very natures predisposed violent, aggressive tendencies.    

Footsteps echoed in the hall, a murmur of voices and the moment was broken, the ghost fading from view quickly. Dean watched it disappear, pale face the last to go, its haughty sneer fixed and proud. “Dean?”

Pushing aside the thoughts and feelings that briefly beset him, and smiling, Dean turned to greet Teyla, his smile wide and bright. Torren was fidgeting and fussy in her arms, trying to get down and Teyla looked a little harassed and stressed, her face not as calm or steady as it usually was.

“Rough morning?” Dean asked, reaching for Torren.

Instantly as he heard Dean’s voice and stopped wriggling long enough to see him, Torren twisted and writhed towards him, arms outstretched in silent plea. Dean neatly scooped him up from his unprotesting and grateful mother, and tossed him over his shoulder, holding his feet so that the little guy dangled over his back, giggling like mad, hands tapping the small of his back as he hung upside-down.

Sharing his smile now, Teyla nodded and sighed, “The storm woke him very early and he did not wish to remain in his bed. Or mine. We have been very busy this morning.”

Hauling Torren back up and settling him snuggly on his hip so that the kid’s legs wrapped around his waist, Dean gently poked the toddler in his rotund little stomach and chided, “Monkeys are supposed to listen to their moms.”

“What monkey?” Torren chirruped, giggling at the poke and batting Dean’s hand away.

“This is a monkey,” Dean laughed and pretended to drop Torren, making him squeal and laugh even more, all the way up and down. Smiling affectionately at them both, Teyla straightened her hair and asked, “Did you wish to train today?”

A wave of fear tinged anxiety washed over Dean, which he quickly buried in the ambient emotions of his empathy field before Torren picked up on it. Without missing a beat, Dean shook his head and said, “Nah. I’m off today and I’d prefer a headache free day, thanks.”

“You have been making good progress. Your control is greatly improved,” Teyla said quietly, perhaps noticing his initial reluctance, or simply aware of how much he disliked their sessions.

Shrugging, Dean jiggled Torren, pulled a face at him and muttered, “Yeah. Better but not perfect – yet.”

Teyla reached out and touched his hand steadying Torren and said kindly, “It has been less than a month, Dean. You are pushing your limits each time and recovering faster and faster. Do not….”

Not wanting to discuss it, their session yesterday all too fresh in his mind, Dean interrupted her with a bright, false smile and said, “I get it, Teyla. I do. We better hurry if we want to get any breakfast. Messhall 3 is going to be packed.”

Unmoved, Teyla kept her hand on his and looked up at his face, her eyes scanning his, kind and concerned about him. “You will gain the control you seek, Dean. You just need to give yourself time.”

Burying the turmoil of emotion that rose at her concern and care, Dean nodded stiffly and tried to smile. Teyla maintained their gaze for a few seconds before breaking off, and quietly reaching for her son. “I’ll save you a seat.”

Gratefully, Dean handed Torren back who cried out in protest and replied, “Thanks. I’ll grab a quick shower and be down in ten. Thanks.”

Smiling, Teyla walked off, Torren grumbling all the way and Dean watched them go for a while, trying to sort through and contain his emotions. His room on Atlantis was tiny, with just enough space for a bed, small cupboard and dresser. It had an awesome view though, which at the moment was of stormed tossed seas and a tumultuous sky. Dean stood at the window, staring out at the storm, idly tracing the small burn marks on his arm.

No matter Teyla’s reluctance or insistence on patience, he was determined to regain control of his empathic field. It didn’t matter that over the past few weeks he had rebuilt his walls and was no longer leaking ambient emotions, or his own. All it took to shatter that control was a single burst of electricity. Dean summoned a small spark of energy which danced on the tip of his finger. The air was thick with charged particles from the storm, and creating the spark was easier than thought. If he could summon it and direct it, why not control it and prevent it from breaking his empathic shield. That was the theory at least. So far he had failed to stop a small charge of electrical power from scattering his walls, but he had to agree that he was rebuilding them faster.

None of that mattered though if T&E or a Kinetic found him before he had mastered it completely. Under a steady barrage of electricity, he was still helpless and at the mercy of the Kinetics.

Shoving those fears and thoughts aside, Dean jumped into the shower, stripping away his sweaty clothes.

The corridor leading to Hall 3 was packed as people crowded in, vying for a place in the line for food. Dean gently pushed past a trio of arguing scientists, who were loudly debating the merits of loop quantum theory and whether fruit loops could be considered a classic breakfast cereal. There was hardly a seat available in the hall, the loud buzz of voices almost overwhelming. The atmospheric emotions were all heightened and excited, people bouncing off the energy of each other and the prospect of good food.  Dean locked down on his emotions and empathic field, fending off the surge of happy emotions around him.

He spotted Teyla straight away, Torren on her lap, busy destroying a piece of toast with a knife. Her table though was full, Ronon, Sheppard, McKay, Dr Keller and Dr Carson all crowded around it. Jones was waving at him from a table overwhelmed by Platoon 3 and the Marines were jostling to make space for him. Jones even had a platter ladened down with food in front of him. Waving at Teyla, who nodded back apologetically, Dean dodged and ducked his way through the crowd before slipping into a chair next to Jones.

The sergeant still looked a bit red in the face from the morning run, and he boomed cheerfully, “We nearly caught the Colonel!”

Snagging the platter and shoving a pile of blue eggs onto the cooling toast, Dean asked, “And Ronon?”

“Nah, no chance.”

Dean bit into his eggy toast, his stomach growling in anticipation. Teldy walked past their table, chatting to Dr Porter and nodded at him with a small smile. Dean bobbed his eyebrows at her in reply. “So where are you going today? Offworld?” Jones shouted in his ear, waving at the Lieutenant who was standing in the crowd, looking lost. The Marines groaned and protested as Jones fought for more space, but grudgingly made more space for the Lt..

Eating steadily, piling bacon on his third piece of toast, Dean shrugged, “Thought about catching the concert on Old Hayn. Giles was raving about the Bugs last week.”

Two Marines over, Private Giles turned at hearing his name, and raised a cup of coffee at Dean, who nodded. As Lt. Kim settled in next to him, his own tray bearing a healthy bowl of cereal and yoghurt, a random Marine plopped a full cup of coffee next to Dean. “Did you guys blackmail Maguire again?” asked Kim, as he stirred a cup of tea.

Jones clapped his hand over his heart and protested loudly, “Never. Platoon 3 never resorts to blackmail. He owed us from the last time we did a supply run for Wallstreet, and today we called in that marker.” Dean nodded in appreciation as another platter of bacon and toast moved down the table, much to the delight of the Marines, who attacked it with gusto.

Snagging his own share of the platter, Dean wolfed down the food, happily filling the hole inside. Kim ate in silence, smiling periodically at Jones who was holding several conversations all at once. Platoon 3 were on Atlantis rotation, so Jones was trying to swap his perimeter patrol with Gate duty, without much luck. Across from Jones, a stiff faced Corporal was nodding politely as Jones explained why he needed to be in the Gate Room, which mostly involved his continued attempt to woo Technician Matthews.

“Your romantic plans hardly warrant overriding the schedule, Sergeant.”

Scowling at Corporal Novak, Jones hissed, “I could make it an order, Jimmy.”

Jimmy Novak raised an eyebrow and said in a deadpan voice, “Considering Captain Kalen set the roster, I doubt you would override it without a more serious reason than attempts to woo Ms Matthews.”

“Come on, Jimmy. Have a heart! Have you seen her ass?”

Unimpressed, and looking a little confused, Novak replied, “I don’t understand how her physical attributes lend your plea any more merit.”

Jones threw up his hands in despair, nearly knocking over Dean’s coffee. “It’s pretty much the whole frigging point, McGeekoid. Damn are you sure you’re a Marine, Novak?”

Dean caught the Corporal’s eyes and smiled as the stiff, overly formal guy replied, “Yes. It says so on my file.”

Kim and a few of the Marines laughed and Jones gave up, turning to his next victim, Private Martins. Novak returned to his breakfast, a quiet match to Kim amidst the noise of the table. The guy was definitely an odd duck.

Briefly Dean let his barriers down a little and let the camaraderie and friendship of the platoon and odd gate teammate buoy his spirits up. Surrounded by good people who were happy and content with their lives, with more than enough food in front of him, Dean tried to relax and enjoy the moment.

Overhead the storm crashed and raged, lightning flickering across the windows.

*sga*spn*sga*spn*sga*spn*sga*spn*sga*spn*sga*spn*sga*spn*sga*spn*sga*spn*sga*spn

In a quiet, darkened room in building S3, a computer terminal provided the sole illumination in the room. The screen flickered as a message appeared.

_Status report Four 2_

The room’s occupant slowly typed a response.

_Device placed in largest public area. Confirm ready status._

A long minute passed and then a reply appeared on the screen.

_Confirmed. Test will occur at 19h00 Atlantis time today. Mother device ready._

Agent Four 2, the last Trust operative on Atlantis smiled and shut off the terminal.

*sga*spn*sga*spn*sga*spn*sga*spn*sga*spn*sga*spn*sga*spn*sga*spn*sga*spn*sga*spn

TBC in Part 2


	2. Chapter 2

Dean slammed the cupboard door shut as he shrugged into the soft leather jacket. It clung to him snugly, lined with a soft fleece that seemed to mould itself around his torso. He zipped it up, double checked his offworld pack and palmed the door open.

Teldy was waiting for him near the entrance to the Gateroom, dressed in the non-descript clothes most of the military folk seemed to prefer offworld. She was chatting to a blonde scientist lady, whose white lab coat glistened amongst the collected blacks and blues of the duty personnel. Catching sight of him, Teldy smiled and winked at him, wrapping up her conversation. The scientist shot him a guarded look and trotted off to whatever brainy activity she had planned.

“Nice coat,” Teldy smiled appreciatively, and pulled him closer, wrapping one arm around his waist. Dean grinned back and kissed her softly. “Wallstreet’s payment for the Sauq-wheat deal. Fights like a glove.”

“So I see,” Teldy laughed. “I wouldn’t put it past Wallstreet to have had it custom made for you. You know he wants you on his squad permanently, right?”

Dean nodded, smile fading a little, but his barriers were up and strong, so he was certain that none of his ambivalence about being ‘wanted’ shone through. Changing subjects, he stepped towards the Gate Room, gently pulling her along with him and said, “You sure you’re ok with Old Hayn?”

Teldy shrugged and turned to check the departure board over Gate Control. “Yeah, I am, but I preliminarily booked a second stop to Mitchell’s Folly, if that’s ok. Could do with some sunshine and sand.”

“Just as long as you packed your bikini,” Dean smiled. Teldy’s smile said she had not and had no need of one. Dean slipped his hand into her back pocket and sighed, “Hotpockets, music and sex on the beach… awesome.” His grin was wicked and Teldy shared it.

The wormhole dial in for Old Hayn was scheduled to take place in four minutes, so Dean and Teldy slipped through the buzzing crowd of off-rotation personnel, and joined the line of people heading to the music festival. Dean nodded at Corporal Novak who was standing with Response Line One, and the odd guy nodded back, face serious and projecting ‘I am on duty’. A clear, determined and no-nonsense voice called clearly over the crowd of waiting people. “No medical clearance, no travel, Dr Freeman. No exceptions and don’t give me that wounded puppy look.”

Ah, Charlie was on Border Control today. Cool.

Dean caught a glimpse of red hair near the front, and Teldy murmured in his ear, “Freeman hasn’t gone offworld in years, but he tries every so often. I think he only remembers he’s on an alien world every couple of months. Between Carson and Keller though, the man will go home first before he gates offworld.”

Charlie’s voice rose over the hubbub again, clear and strident, but you could hear the supressed laughter within. “I do not accept bribes, Doctor! Not even if you invented a sonic screwdriver, or a light-saber and put my name on top of the list.”

“I’d cave for a light-saber,” Dean sighed, and Teldy rolled her eyes.  “You’d cave for peanut m’n’m’s.”

“True,” Dean beamed down at her.

A disconsolate and browbeaten Dr Freeman pushed past them, his face the picture of abject misery. He was clutching a collection of grubby papers and books, his glasses askew and his hair in stereotypical disarray. The lingering odour that wafted in his wake was a pungent mix of garlic, old spice and BO. Dean grimaced and muttered, “Yeesh.” The poor guy disappeared into the crowd, which parted before him like the red sea.

Up on the platform, Chuck queued the comm. system and said calmly over the speakers, “Old Hayn Scheduled Gate.” The Gate chevrons light up in sequence and with a mighty ‘woosh’ the wormhole engaged, filling the room with blue light. Up ahead, Charlie started clearing people for departure and the line slowly but steadily moved. Dean shot a glance up at the stained glass windows, the storm outside was still raging, with no sign of abating. It was definitely a good day to be offworld as thunder rattled overhead and for a second lightning illuminated the room.

Recalling the storm yesterday, Dean flicked his eyes upwards, tracking the unseen storm clouds overhead. “Lightning doesn’t affect the StarGate does it?” he asked Teldy quietly and she paused before answering. “Sometime, but not often. It’s usually only Gates out in the open, you know.. highest point and all.”

Dean frowned at her and grumbled, “Great, real comforting. Especially right now”

With efficiency born of needing to clear the Room for normal Gate Mission travel, the line was now quickly moving and Dean and Teldy reached Charlie and her invisible border control post. She looked up from her tablet, nose crunched in concentration, mouth half open with a question and said, “Papers…” She looked up, and trailed off, eyes darting towards Dean’s face and she paled visibly.

Without missing a beat, Dean smiled and handed her his clearance card. Gathering her wits, Charlie took the card with an apologetic grimace and scanned it into her tablet, noting down his scheduled and potential destinations. She smiled wanly at Teldy whose face was unreadable and took her card too. Clearing her throat and speaking more to the Major than him, Charlie coughed, “Estimated return time?”

Somewhat coolly, Teldy replied, “18h00 Atlantis time.”

Still trying to regain her professional demeanour, Charlie flicked her red ponytail of her shoulder and said, “Ok, make it 18h05 to 18h10 AT time. There’s a big party from Athos coming in at 18h00.”

“Understood,” Teldy said, taking back her card.

“Ah, the usual protocols apply, ma’am er… sir?” Charlie blushed, and Teldy raised an eyebrow in reply, which made Charlie go even redder.

Dean’s figures briefly touched Charlie’s as she handed him back his card, and she went beet red, cheeks flushing prettily. “Sorry, sorry,” she stammered, taking a small step back from him, eyes darting everywhere but him. Teldy stiffened next to him, but Dean nonchalantly slotted the card into his pocket and smiled at her. “I’m pretty certain that if he’d given you a real sonic screwdriver that you’d had let him Gate somewhere.”

Startled, Charlie stopped, frozen in her awkwardness. For a long second Charlie stared at him, her eyes darting over his face, fingers clasping her tablet like it was a life preserver. Dean felt Teldy’s surprise spike, along her with irritation, but there was an undercurrent of curiosity now too. Eventually, Charlie smiled, a small tiny smile bathed in blue StarGate light and she shrugged sheepishly. “Maybe. Probably.”

Dean nodded, slouching a bit, hands in his pockets. “I heard that the guys over in applied physics were trying to build a light-saber the other day, until McKay caught them and confiscated the crystals they were using.”

Charlie’s eyes lit up and she laughed, “Really? McKay’s probably trying to make one himself now.”

Teldy titled her head and said smoothly, voice betraying none of the mixed emotions she was projecting, “Five bucks the Colonel figures it out first.”

“No bet,” both Dean and Charlie said, their grins matching.

Some of the bounce returned to Charlie’s step, as she stepped aside and waved them through. “Enjoy the trip,” she said brightly, grin back, even if it looked a bit forced. Dean nodded and he and Teldy strode towards the shiny Gate. As they approached the horizon, Teldy hissed in his ear, “What the hell was all that about?”

“Tell you later,” he whispered back and stepped into the Gate.

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As the wormhole disengaged and the Gate Room returned to the duller, gloomier mood lighting generated by the storm, Charlie cursed softly and vehemently to herself, at herself.

“Way to go, Granger. Way to lay low and avoid the Empath. Idiot.”

She turned and checked the board. The Gate to New Athos was up next and she had to get her head back in the game. No time and no use berating herself, she’d have ample time later tonight. Charlie waved at Chuck who was watching her, no doubt having noticed her flups with Winchester. He waved back and returned to his console.

Charlie let out a deep breath, gathered herself towards herself and said softly, “Come on, girl. What would Willow do?” Charlie paused, scanned the GateRoom, the milling crowd and Gate looming over her. She whispered, “She’d snap out of it, lay down an awesome one liner and pretend nothing funky had happened.”

And with that, she shook her head, pony tail whipping around and smiled at the next group of would-be travellers. “Ah, Dr Freeman. We meet again.”

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At first glance, Old Hayn looked like something off an expensive Swiss chocolate box; breath taking, picturesque alpine scenery. Jagged snow covered mountains glistened in the moonlight, and soft undulating hills dipped and dove into the valley, crisp and silver with snow.  Trees silhouetted against the skyline added to the beauty, pin pricking the white snow with dots of shapely black, arcing up into the midnight blue sky. The town lights of Old Hayn burned warm, a welcoming yellow, nestled in the folds of the valley, and distant sounds of music and laughter drifted up in the breeze.

At a second glance, its similarity to Switzerland or Earth vanished. The three moons overhead illuminated the night so brightly the stars were vague points of light. The fourth moon would rise later in the night, adding yet more light. The mountains were too young, too jagged, their peaks resembling broken fragments or daggers, slicing into the heavens, untamed as yet by years of weather, storms and erosion. The trees were bulbous plants, with nary a leaf to be seen, slick and slippery, the snow falling off them and forming stalactites on the ground. And the massive not-horses that waited near the gate, hitched to sleighs to take revellers and travellers down to the town were a clear give away. Six limbed, stocky and thick like oxen, their equine-ness was brought through by their shapely, majestic heads and incredible manes. But otherwise, they sure as hell were not horses.

Dean hugged Teldy close against the icy air, the cold sharp in comparison to Atlantis’s warmth. His breath steamed as he exhaled, and he was glad of the fleece lined jacket.  “Let’s walk,” Teldy said, happily burrowing into her own jacket and Dean’s side.  It wasn’t that far to the town and they weren’t the only ones walking rather than paying the price of the sleigh. She nodded at the Lieutenant ostensibly in charge of this ‘away’ mission, despite not being the highest ranked officer on planet. The Lt. nodded back with a smile. They’d have to alert him if they left prior to the group scheduled return to Atlantis. Teldy checked their radios and comm. line and they set off.

The road down to Old Hayn twisted and turned through the hills, and was well salted, so they set off at a decent pace, the walk helping to keep them both warm. As they drew out of earshot from those gathered around the Gate, Teldy sighed, “So talk, Winchester. What was that all about?”

Watching the road, eyes primed for movement, Dean shrugged, a small smile on his face as he said, “She was embarrassed.” Teldy’s expression demanded more than that, and Dean raised an eyebrow of ‘you sure you want to know?’ “Spill, Winchester,” Teldy poked him in the ribs and he grunted in protest.

“Charlie was projecting some pretty lustful feelings … about you.”

Teldy stared at him, trying to see if he was pulling her leg, but Dean grinned back, honesty painted all over his face. “What?” she stammered.

Laughing, Dean nodded and said, “Yep, totally into you and when she saw me, she kind of imploded with embarrassment.”

“Because you could tell?” Teldy asked, her boots thudding dully on the stone road. They both kept their eyes on the path, watching for patches of ice.

“Yep,” Dean smiled and hugged Teldy tight. “You’re on everyone’s list, baby.” He winked at her and Teldy rolled her eyes, but had a pleased smile. “How do you know it wasn’t you she was hot for, babe?”

“Maybe when I started speaking geek, but until then… nada.”

Teldy hmmed, her expression still pleased and relaxed. Her profile was highlighted in the bright moonlight, sharp, clear and beautiful. “She’s kind of cute, wouldn’t say no.”

“Threesome?”

“In your dreams.”

“Every night, babe. Every night.”

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The beach on Mitchell’s Folly was wonderfully soft and comfortable – and not in the way a beach looked soft and comfortable until you sat down on it and discovered that sand is still just broken up rock.  Not so on Mitchell’s Folly. Here the sand had been worn and eroded down to the finest of granules, and due to mix of metal and chemical compounds unique to that environment, felt oddly buoyant. It made for fantastic sex on the beach.

Dean ran his fingers through Teldy’s hair as she rested on his arm and against his side, running her fingers over his bare chest and stomach. The sky overhead was awash with celestial bodies, natural satellites and tiny moons, stars dimly viewed between them, and this was midday on Mitchell’s Folly, the tiny trio of suns strong enough to warm the planet, but between the atmosphere mix and chemical composition of the ocean, there was no true ‘sky’ – only picturesque space.  

“You hungry?” Teldy murmured.

“Always,” Dean rumbled, eyes tracking a stream of meteorites racing across the heavens. Teldy laughed but didn’t move, content for now where she was. Dean closed his eyes and listened to the sounds of an alien world. The crash of the waves onto the shore was muted, dulled by the soft sand, and wind moving through the trees on the shoreline was musical as it knocked the large nut shells clinging to the trees.  An awesome concert, loads of delicious mini-pies, a girl on his arm, and a lonely beach all for themselves – bar for the two other couples who had come with them. Life was good.

Silence backed by the song of the ocean stretched out over them, quiet with contentment, the breeze keeping them cool. Teldy was tracing the curve of his ribs idly, the motion slightly ticklish. She sounded half asleep as she murmured, “You sleeping with anyone else, Winchester?”

Dean opened his eyes, the startling wash of stars and moons overhead making his heart skip a beat. The surface emotions from Teldy were calm and composed, but there was a deeper undercurrent of nervousness he did not pursue. “Not at the moment,” he replied.

Her fingers didn’t stop, their pathway rhythmic and repetitive circular motions. “You know we aren’t exclusive, right?”

“Yep,” Dean said, careful to keep his own emotions controlled and subdued. His walls were strong and firm, and had been for weeks.

Teldy’s face was pressed against his arm, her eyes on the horizon, and crashing waves. Some of her nerves were dissipating, her usual calm confidence uppermost. “This has been awesome, Dean, but sometimes… like right now… it feels,” she paused, her fingers trembling a bit. Dean flicked a glance at her face, what he could see of it. She met his gaze, eyes clear and honest. “It feels serious. Like it could get serious.”

The hook up had been easy, two people in need of release and comfort. Teldy’s list of available men on Atlantis was short – mostly due to command structure restrictions. Dean’s T&E enforced dry spell had been top on his list of things to fix. Now a month later, they spent most nights in Teldy’s quarters, mostly because hers were bigger. Dean wanted to say, ‘ _And serious is a problem?’_ but instead he smiled back at her concerned expression. “You want to slow things down?” He projected nonchalant acceptance.

She shrugged, her whole body echoing a burst of mixed unhappiness. Slowly she moved her hand off his chest and sighed, “Don’t take this the wrong way, but it would help if you were sleeping with other people, Dean.”

He laughed, tightening his arm around her, bringing her closer. “Who says I haven’t?”

Teldy smiled up at him, her eyebrows arched in ‘oh really?’. “Maybe at first, but in the last few weeks?”  Dean laughed again, and said, “First time any woman been pissed that I haven’t been sleeping around.” He pulled her close, almost onto his chest. Teldy opened her mouth to protest and she stiffened a little. Dean quickly interjected, his smile bright and genuine. “Anne, you are one awesome lady and I like you a lot but don’t worry about this getting too ‘serious’.”

Her face softened but some of her scepticism leaked through. Dean continued, “I get it. Your love your job and like just fooling around. This, us, is awesome and fun. Nothing serious.”

A massive breaker crashed, some of the liquid splashing their legs, as the tide turned. Teldy studied his face, eyes darting, trying to ascertain something. She smiled hesitantly and said, “Emotions are hard to turn off.” She leant in and kissed him softly, her lips warm against his.

They kissed for a while, Dean running his hands over her back, Teldy’s weight comforting on his chest as they moved together.  The incoming tide broke the kiss, another wave lapping against their legs, the ocean liquid cool and tingling. Breaking apart, breathing a little hard, they looked at each other, faces close. Dean smiled gently and said, “So that Princess Leia outfit is definitely out? What about Lt Uhura?”

Teldy rolled her eyes, and pushed off him, standing up, looming over him. “No way in hell, Winchester.” Her grin though was soft, a little sad. She turned and ran into the ocean. Dean sat up, feet digging into the strange sand. He stood slowly, and brushed off most of the sand before trotting into the waves after her. The ocean on Mitchell’s Folly wasn’t water, but a clear liquid with a slight pink tint. It felt refreshing and soothing, but you could only swim for a few minutes before it began to numb nerves and skin. If you stayed in too long, you wouldn’t feel the horde of tiny predators that darted in and fed on your skin and flesh.

Dean and Teldy emerged from the ocean shortly and ran up the beach towards their clothes, which were piled underneath a tree on the shoreline. Things still felt a bit tense, unresolved, and Dean picked up residual uncertainty from Teldy, wariness almost. As he bent down to grab his pants, he quickly tried to think of someway to lighten the mood, to reassure Teldy that they were ok, that he was ok with the conversation. That he was ok with her wanting to keep some distance. With his mind elsewhere, Dean pulled the garment towards him and something small, black and very much alive let out a squawk of protest. Startled, Dean tensed, and automatically sought a weapon, eyes darting towards his sidearm or knife. Teldy turned abruptly, also searching for a weapon.

The little black creature squealed and flapped awkwardly in the sand, one wing caught on the fabric of Dean’s BDU pants, the other dragging in the sand. Fragile legs scrabbled to find purchase and it let out another screech. Dean paused, heart pounding and stared at the thing.

Teldy laughed. “Looks like a dragon, doesn’t it?”

Dean nodded, tension turning into astonished curiosity. He crouched down and peered at the struggling baby reptile. It sure as hell looked like a miniature dragon, right down to the long tail, delicate head and little claws. Murmuring soothing nothings, he reached out and tried to free the caught wing. The little thing wasn’t happy about that and hissed and screamed at him, trying to get away. It pulled and yanked at the snare it was caught in and howled piteously.

Gently Dean closed one hand around it, to keep it still and the tiny beast exploded with motion, biting and clawing at him. Undeterred Dean quickly but cautiously unhooked the dew claw caught on his pants. Rather than try pick it up, he opened his hand and the little dragon surged out, chittering at him furiously. It flapped around on the ground, a noisy caterwaul accompanying each movement. It hadn’t seemed to notice or care that it was free, instead it was howling up at him, eyes red with anger, mouth open, teeth bared.

“It’s trying to scare you off,” Teldy laughed.

Dean reached for his pants again, and the dragon screeched at him, darting for his arm, one wing dragging on the sand, the other flared up, flapping wildly. As it reached him, it latched on his arm, and started biting his thumb, tail wrapped around his wrist, little claws digging in like pins. “Sheesh,” Dean hissed, but he didn’t shake it off. It hurt, but barely registered as really painful. Looking up at Teldy who was still smiling, her face open and amused, Dean said, “Looks like one of its wings is screwed up.”

“Yeah. Probably why it was on the ground. Probably can’t fly.”

The little dragon was still determinedly attacking his hand, and had drawn blood several times and was actually trying to chew on him. Wincing a bit, Dean leant forward and pulled his coat closer. Holding his dragon wrapped right hand gingerly he fumbled in his jacket for the last mini-pie. It was a meat one he’d been saving for the walk home. Teldy bent down and helped him unwrap the pie, her eyes crinkled with laughter. Once open, Dean broke the pie in half, and offered a small piece, dripping with delicious sauce, to the dragon. It hissed at him, red eyes sparkling magnificently, but when it stopped growling long enough to actually smell the meat, it squawked loudly. 

Without letting go of his wrist, it launched forward, long neck reaching and keened for the food. Dean placed the meat on his open right palm and the dragon attacked it, scuttling up his arm, tail still wrapped tightly. It devoured the pieces in seconds.

“Chew, dude, chew.”

The dragon howled for more, and Teldy popped the last half on Dean’s hand. It vanished instantly, the dragon licking up crumbs and sauce, its little pink tongue darting over his skin. It arched its neck, staring up at them and cried for more.

“Well, now you’ve gone and done it. What now?”

Dean shrugged, sharing a bemused look with her.  The stupid thing’s cries were reaching uncomfortable decibels and they both winced at one particular long warbling note. Instinctively, not really thinking about it, Dean _projected_ comforting, soothing emotions at it, willing it to calm the hell down.

The howls stopped instantly and the dragon stared up at him, eyes fixed.

“Oh shit.”

“Did you just whammy it?”

“Maybe,” Dean gulped, the little dragon transfixed on his face, claws flexing into his hand.

Teldy dropped to her haunches and reached out to touch the little guy. The dragon hissed and spat at her, wings flaring, and clung even tighter to Dean’s hand, eliciting another wince from him. “You can’t exactly take it back with you, Dean.”

Dean frowned, bit his lip and asked, “Do you think xeno-zoology would be able to fix his wing?”

For a moment, Teldy looked at him, studying his face, and she nodded slowly, “Possibly. Depends on what’s wrong I suppose, but we shouldn’t interfere, really. It’s against regulations and quarantine protocol.”

Snorting, Dean shook his head, “Interference is the SGC’s motto. Are you seriously telling me that no one ever rescued some animal in need of help?”

“If every Tom, Dick and Dean brought back a cute injured creature and kept it as a pet, we’d be overrun with wildlife. Besides what would you do with it when you go on missions? We shouldn’t contaminate other environments with alien fauna, who knows what the consequences could be?”

“I don’t plan on keeping him, Anne. I just want to see if Xeno can fix his wing, give him a fighting chance. I’ll bring him back here after.”

Teldy sighed, checked her watch and frowned slightly, “We’re going to be late if we don’t head back now.” Looking up at him, she said firmly, “I think you should leave it here, but do what you want.”

Dean nodded, and resisted the urge to _soothe_ her a little, her irritation sharp and fierce. He dressed quickly, but awkwardly, trying to balance the little reptile who was unwilling to be shifted of his hand, judging by the amount of hissing and growling. Shaking sand out of his boot, Dean glanced at Teldy. She was watching the ocean, her expression distant, eyes shining in the clear light. Cautiously Dean coaxed the dragon towards his inner jacket pocket, projecting thoughts of warmth and comfort. The tiny creature blinked up at him, and gingerly crawled towards the pocket, grumbling a bit. It fit neatly in the palm of his hand, little tail strong and whiplike, features delicate and sharp, and it made a relatively small bulge in his jacket. The dragon curled up and Dean could hear it rumbling, maybe purring to itself.

“Ready?” he called to Teldy and she nodded, turning half towards him as she did. She set off ahead of him, legs eating up the distance in long strides. Dean trailed her, very much aware of the distance suddenly between them and not too sure when it had happened.

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Sheppard sat down with a groan, feeling the burn of overworked muscles as he did. Between the black run this morning and deploying out to help the people of PX3-412 haul in their harvest ahead of a swarm of voracious insects, his body was protesting any continued movement. Tossing bailed up Sauq-wheat to waiting carts and then later into secured barns leant new meaning to the sensation of strained arms and shoulders. Racing a determined platoon of marines up the Central Tower stairs had been fun, but his legs were definitely feeling it now.

Messhall Three was still the flavour of the day, Maguire’s roast wherry dinner drawing in the crowds. Messhall Two’s gumbo pie just didn’t hold a candle to that. Ronon happily placed an extra plate of roast meat on the their table and Sheppard’s mouth watered as the collective smell of meat, vegetables and tobar root roasted to perfection wafted over them.

Rodney was two tables over, heatedly debating something with Zelenka and few other applied physicists. His face was red with emotion, hands waving in excitement, and the others were all talking a mile a minute as well. Only Zelenka was relatively quiet, mostly because he was furiously scribbling on his tablet. Ronon grunted as he sat down and mumbled over a mouthful of food, “What’s more important than food?”

“For you, nothing. For them, science.”

Ronon rumbled in reply, happily tucking into his meal. They had both worked hard today, Ronon doing more than his fair share of work on PX3-412, outpacing everyone, bar a few Marines who kept up with him. The whole large room was filled with happy smells and voices, the general furore not too loud, and conversations still possible.

Overhead, on a primary wall, the chronometer ticked over, indicating local Atlantis time: 18h20.

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Charlie was still in the Gate room when the 18h10 dial in from Mitchell’s Folly wormholed in at 18h20. The Athosian party had been late, so in true post scheduled mission form, the majority of the R&R dial-ins were late. She was up on the platform, helping Chuck catalogue data from the daily downloads, even though she was officially off duty.

She looked up absently when the wormhole engaged and the iris shield dropped. After a few seconds, the handful of people from Mitchell’s Folly began walking through. Absently, she checked the confirmed roster and gulped silently, her heart skipping a beat when she saw Dean Winchester’s name.

_Crap._

Shoving aside the surge of fearful emotion, she turned back to her portion of data dumps and focused on the screen, studiously _not_ watching the Gate. Mitchell’s Folly was the last dial in, and McIntire called out loudly, “And Winchester. That’s it. Everyone’s home, and accounted for.”

The light from the Gate snapped off, dropping the room back to the warmer glow of the Ancient lighting. The storm had passed, but the sky outside was still overcast and the air was decidedly chilly. Unable to stop herself, Charlie peered over her laptop screen and watched as Dean strolled towards Decon. Teldy was ahead of him, nearly out of the room.

Charlie frowned as she picked up an ambient spike of anger from her and idly, almost unconsciously, Charlie _followed_ the spike, trying to isolate it’s source. Teldy was normally so calm and assured, the picture perfect female soldier, and she radiated strength and confidence. The _tangible_ anger was unusual. Charlie _pressed_ a bit at Teldy’s barriers, absently feeling out the woman’s emotional state. 

Abruptly a wave of cold disapproval washed over her and a wall slammed between her and Teldy. Startled, shocked and instantly embarrassed, Charlie pulled back and blushed furiously. She didn’t need to look at Dean to know he’d slapped her empathic questing feelers away. The raw power of his wall and ability was stunning in its intensity.

Ashamed, both at being caught and for slipping back in bad habits, Charlie sat up straighter and looked directly at him, _projecting_ a sincere apology. Dean was staring straight at her, his face unreadable, his own empathic walls high and solid, leaking nothing of what he was feeling. His gaze though, his eyes bored into her.

Charlie felt a chill run up her spine – not of fear, but of warning. _Be careful, young padawan_.

Everyone knew Dean was an Empath, but here she was – hiding in plain sight, laying low, avoiding the same people who had their hooks in Dean. T&E.

Charlie nodded slowly, giving him a sheepish smile and she tried to _project_ understanding and thanks at him.

Dean though shook his head and walked away, without looking back.

Fortunately, Chuck seemed oblivious to it all. Sighing to herself, Charlie checked her barriers and went back to work.

_Nice job, bonehead._

The clock shone bright and red: 18h30

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Dr Hoshi in Xeno-Zoology had asked Dean to leave the little dragon with him for the night and after a lot of fuss and Dean _encouraging_ the little guy to stay in the fairly spacious lab, the tiny dragon was settled in an aviary cage, curled up with a pile of raw meat.

Hoshi hadn’t exploded with excitement at the sight of the dragon, so Dean figured the Xeno-zoology department had already documented the dragons on Mitchell’s Folly. Hopefully he’d be able to help.

Feeling a bit at loose ends, Dean strolled towards Messhall Three slowly, hands in his pockets, glad for the warmth of the jacket. The halls of Atlantis were quiet, most folk at dinner or working late. He passed a perimeter patrol and nodded at the Marines as they greeted him. At times like this, Atlantis felt like the abandoned city it had been, silent with memories of days gone past, ghosts flitting through the halls.

It wasn’t particularly late, probably close to seven, and the main dinner rush would be tapering off. Dean turned towards Messhall Three, thoughts on the day and the somewhat sour note it had ended on. As he approached the corridor leading into the Messhall, he slowed, picking up a growing crest of emotion.

The building momentum of emotion abruptly exploded, a torrent of fear and surprise rushing at him down the corridor. Seconds later, people started screaming and there were sounds of gunfire. Slamming up his walls, Dean sprinted towards the Messhall, adrenalin pumping through him.

He crashed into a few people running away, their faces white, eyes wide and as he entered, he ran into a chaotic battle.

Scientists and civilian types were scrambling over tables and chairs, trying to get away or create space for the Marines who were shoving forward trying to reach Sheppard and Ronon. A glowing orb was hovering over the table Sheppard and his team normally used, and out of the ever growing orb flew hundreds and hundreds of … things.

Winged and clawed, the creatures plummeting out of the orb shrieked and snarled, and dove at anything and everyone, long claws racking faces and exposed skin. Two marines were trying to reach a lady who was collapsing under the sheer weight of winged attackers, her screams lost in the maelstrom of theirs. The creatures varied in size and as more flew out of the orb, they seemed to be getting bigger and bigger.

Ronon and Sheppard were at the centre of the battle, nearly completely surrounded by shrieking gun metal grey monsters. Wings, claws on hands and feet, wide open mouths full of teeth and bulbous black eyes, they looked like something out of a bad 80s movie, but they were fast and persistent. Ronon was shooting at them like a mad man, and alternatively fending them off with one of his knives. But his face was bleeding and the creatures kept pulling and tangling in his hair. Sheppard was crouched low, wielding a broken chair like a baseball bat, batting the diving monsters like pro. 

Dean moved without thinking, snatched up a metal dinner tray and waded into battle. He beaned a few creatures flying towards the open door and the creatures collapsed with a shriek. All around him, Marines and the odd scientist were similarly batting at the winged monstrosities. No one was shooting, aside for Ronon, for fear of hitting someone else.

A storm of the creatures crashed towards Dean, howling and screaming, and he raised one arm to protect his face, and continued to pummel at them with his tray. The swarm hit him with real force and weight and nearly drove him to his knees. Several latched onto his arm, and bit and clawed at him. Fortunately the leather offered moderate protection, but all too quickly, he was bleeding in half a dozen places, the creatures crashing into him and clinging to arms, legs and chest.

Swatting them off was a temporary relief only, because as soon as he clobbered one, another two took its place, biting and clawing at him. Luckily he didn’t have a lot of exposed skin, but his jacket and pants were taking a beating.

Hurt and frustrated, Dean _pulled_ at the electricity within him and _shocked_ the little bastards attached to him. The electric pulse snapped through them all and with a sharp cry of dismay, they disintegrated with a puff of smoke. In the momentary lull, Dean caught the very distinctive whiff of sulphur and then the horde was back, attacking even more ferociously. He had no idea how everyone else was faring, and they didn’t have an internal taser. Dean gathered up another shock and _zapped_ the creatures in his immediate vicinity. They vanished with a wail and trail of smoke.

Before the horde could coalesce and attack him again, Dean ducked and ran towards the kitchen. The impressive domain of Sgt Maguire was in complete disarray as the Marines on KP fended off the creatures with mallets and butchers knives. It looked like a blood bath inside, the walls and cupboards covered in black blood. Dean gestured at the cloud of creatures surging towards the Marines and an arc of lightning formed from the appliances and crashed into the cloud, dusting them all.

Dean snatched up a cellar of salt, turned and threw it straight into the oncoming swarm of screaming creatures. They parted like a grey sea, shrieking even louder. They were undeterred though and reformed, charging at him again. Dean though grabbed a bag of salt, shot a bolt of electric energy at the creatures and while they scattered, drew a line of salt across the threshold of the kitchen.

“Stay here,” he yelled at the Marines.

Bag tucked under his arm like a football, Dean ran towards the black and still growing tide of monsters crawling out of the portal. The new arrivals were larger than before, the size of dogs, jaws wide and teeth jagged. Dean leapt up onto a table, wobbled a little, caught himself and let loose a arc of electricity straight into the middle of the cloud.

The creatures the bolt hit vanished in a puff of sulphur and the rest scattered. The beleaguered Marines, Ronon and Sheppard used the momentary relief to snatch up fresh weapons. They looked awful, blood dripping from countless cuts and bites. Unfortunately in the brief lift of creatures, Dean caught sight of a few motionless bodies, blood sprayed all around them.

Before the creatures could launch an attack, Dean opened the bag of salt and tossed half into the air. Shrieking the creatures parted and Dean yelled at Jones, who unsurprisingly still had a wherry drumstick tucked into his jacket. “Catch, Jones. Draw a line of salt across the entrance into the hall.”

Jones nodded, caught the bag, and scrambled towards the main entrance. Dean snapped another bolt of lightning at the whirling swarm over their heads and drove them away from Jones. The portal was still open though and more and more winged monstrosities were coming through. Ronon was methodically shooting up at the swarm, knocking dozens out of the sky. The Marines and Sheppard were hacking at the odd creature who darted towards them out of the portal.

Dean leapt off the table, shot a bolt of energy straight at the portal and hoped to hell he remembered the symbols correctly. Quickly, Dean traced a modified devil’s trap on the table in his own blood easily, his hands were bleeding so badly. As he closed the last line and drew the last symbol, the orb of light snapped shut and the creatures overhead wailed and screamed.

In unison, the creatures shrieked and dropped like kamikazes at them, a torrent of teeth and claws, a spiral of death. Ronon opened fire, steady and certain. Sheppard leant back with his broken chair, eyes tracking the monsters. Dean searched for the last bit of energy he could find, most of the power in the room already drained, and primed a massive electric pulse.

The creatures hit with a thunderous force, most of them dying in the snap of power from Dean, dozens falling to Ronon’s gun. But the sheer numbers that fell on them were incredible. The largest seemed to go straight for Dean and he fell to the floor, born down by their weight and velocity. Drawing his knife, and shocking any that touched him, Dean struggled to find his feet. As fast as they died, more came and Dean was running out of energy, as there was no ready power source he could siphon off. In the end it came down to steady, solid slashing, beating back the beasts with the little power he could find, and slashing and stabbing the rest. It seemed to go on for hours, hacking and slashing endlessly, sprayed with blood.

Fortunately for Dean and the others, reinforcements arrived, Marines taced out in riot gear, wielding machetes and stunners. Screaming and wailing the creatures died, hacked or stunned into submission.

Exhausted, Dean stood, his arms and legs shaking, blood dripping into his eyes. Ronon and Sheppard looked as bad, if not worse. Jones and Kim were at the door, methodically stunning any creature that tried to escape, because the handful still left were now bent on survival – escape.

Heart pounding, body aching, Dean bent over his knees and willed the world to stop whirling around him.

“What in the hell was that?” Sheppard gasped, propped up on a table.

The blood splatted chronometer read: 19h45

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TBC in Part 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the long delay in posting. RL kicked my ass to the curb and chased the muse away. Thanks for your patience.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Previously on Supply and Demand: Dean and Teldy spent their day off together. Dean found a baby dragon and things with Teldy are a little tense. During dinner in Messhall Three a glowing orb appeared and thousands of small flying monsters with long claws and teeth flew out of it and did their best to eat the Marines. Dean, noticing a distinct sulphur smell, on instinct used salt and a devil’s trap to stop the invasion. And now we return after a long hiatus.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Yes, it has really been far too long since I last updated. It’s been a rough year and bit and I do apologise. This WIP hasn’t been far from my mind and all I can say is: thank you for your patience and kind notes to pretty, please continue. Thank you. I appreciate it. No, really.   
> Any and all mistakes are mine.

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Thunder rolled over Atlantis, the storm that had troubled the city all day, returning with a vengeance in the evening. As lightning illuminated a dark room in building S3, a shaky hand awkwardly typed an urgent message.

_Home base, respond. Results unexpected._

For a second, Agent Four paused, wincing at the collection of cuts on his hands and face. Cursing to himself, he angrily added:

_Did you morons even bother testing the mother device? What the hell where those things?_

Home base was usually pretty quick to respond, especially during the designated contact times. A full minute ticked by and there was no response.

_Home base? You there?_

Agent Four grimly thought that maybe the horde of airborne monsters had been a surprise for Home Base as well.

“Serves them right if it was,” Agent Four hissed.

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Sheppard wiped a trail of blood out of his eyes, ignoring the flash of hurt as he touched the angry slice on his forehead that trailed into his hairline. The stupid thing was deep and throbbed and wouldn’t stop bleeding. Ronon was grimly studying a deep gash on his arm, and was generally covered in blood splatter, mostly his own. Rodney and the few scientists who had stayed to fight were similarly covered in cuts and blood. McKay was still clutching the dinner tray he had used as a shield, his eyes wide and excited.

Through the chatter on the comm. channels, Sheppard heard Captain Brown co-ordinating with Medical for immediate triage. Beckett and a team were already on their way to assess and assist with the causalities and injuries. Adrenalin was still charging through him, and Sheppard felt slightly on edge. He scanned the room, noting who was able to stand, and the five individuals either too hurt to stand, or unable to do so. Dr. Barklay’s long dark hair was unmistakable under the frantic movement as two of her colleagues and a marine as they tried to stem the flow of blood from multiple bites and slashes.

Shaking off the momentary lull of shock, Sheppard snapped to and straightened. Touching his ear piece, he said sharply, ‘Control. I want a sitrep and status report in five minutes.’

‘ _Roger that, Colonel.’_

Woolsey would want a detailed report soon, and Sheppard wanted to get a handle on the full extent of injuries and the dead immediately, but more importantly he needed answers. He caught Rodney’s eye and motioned him over. McKay nodded and limped towards him, his face grey and bloody. Winchester was standing to the side, somewhat isolated, Jones and Kim hovering near him. The guy’s left forearm was a mess of shredded leather and skin, and he matched everyone else with blood splatter and numerous small injuries.

The fight had been a maelstrom of fear and adrenalin, battling what had felt like an endless storm of teeth and claws, but Sheppard had seen very clearly that Winchester had closed the glowing hole that the creatures where using to invade. Time for answers.

Sheppard, with Rodney in tow, stepped towards Winchester, who immediately straightened as they approached. He looked glum and little belligerent, like he was bracing himself for another fight. Interesting.

“Colonel, I…” Dean was quick off the bat, but Chuck’s voice interrupted him as a general call on all channels came through the comms. ‘ _Colonel Sheppard, Medical 1 is reporting the appearance of a bright white hole in surgery 3. Captain Kalen is evacuating S3 and S4 where more holes are appearing. The laundry, messhall one, N1, 2, 14 and 22, East 5 and shit, there’s a frigging glowing thing growing in Control, sir!”_

Chuck’s voice was momentarily drowned out as the Marines on control room duty opened fire. For a couple of second’s the comm channel was overloaded with incoming messages and requests for assistance. Grimacing, heart pounding, Sheppard switched to a priority channel and yelled at Chuck, hoping the Canadian heard him. “Chuck, give me city wide, now!”

‘ _Copy that, Colonel. Go ahead.’_ Chuck sounded like he was speaking from under his desk, and Sheppard hoped the Lieutenant in charge there had the situation in hand.

Clearing his throat, Sheppard crooked a finger at Winchester, indicating for him to follow and walked towards the table with the weird ass, hopefully not-Satanic diagram. Ignoring the Empath for now, the Colonel cued his comm. link and said, “This is Colonel Sheppard. I am declaring an Alpha 2 emergency. Combat and response personnel, implement Echo-Delta evac, containment and defence protocols. All non-combatants report to your designated stations for siege level defence. Evan, take North. Durov, East. Teldy, West. Kalen, South. Keep the comm lines clear, and stick to your designated emergency frequency. Standby for further intel.”

Looking up at the Marines, both those who were still bleeding from the first attack and the reinforcements, Sheppard barked, “If Medical has cleared you, head out to your stations.” There was a chorus of ‘yes, sirs’ and the room cleared, just in time to get in Carson’s way as the medical team arrived.

“Colonel! Med 1?” Beckett directed his personnel to attend to the injured but he hurried over, his face pale and anxious. “I’m on it, Beckett,” Sheppard replied

Winchester had been hovering a little to the left, out of the way and Sheppard reached out and pulled the guy closer, ignoring the tingle of touching a pricklish empathy. Ronon and Rodney stood on the other side of the table, and Ronon was twitching to leave and go shoot something. Sheppard met Winchester’s eyes, and briefly tried to get a sense of the man, what thoughts were whirling through his brain. Dean though was locked down, face set and determined but not betraying any real emotion. Sheppard pointed at the symbol and barked, “I have a million questions, but right now I just need to know, will this work again and can anyone draw it?”

Dean blinked and nodded quickly. “Yeah, it’ll work again. It's pretty standard and yes, anyone can draw it.”

“If you draw it wrong, does it just not work or…” Sheppard trailed off, not too sure he wanted to finish that sentence, which was mostly fuelled by images from half-baked low budget horror films.

Winchester must have followed that train of thought, because he shook his head and said, “You draw it wrong, miss something out, it just doesn’t work. It won’t summon something worse or anything. Look,” Dean paused and met their gaze, Rodney’s a picture of scepticism. “I get it. It’s weird, and freaky, but it works. I’ll try to explain why later, but,” and he looked up at Sheppard here, eyes calm and certain, projecting a _please just trust me for now_ look. “I have no freaking idea what’s going on, but they don’t like salt and the devil’s trap closed the portal. There’s not really time to dick around, right?”

Sheppard barked, “No shit, Winchester. McKay, where’s your tablet?”

Rodney handed it over, and Sheppard thrust it Dean and said, “Draw that symbol again. When he’s done, McKay send it out to everyone and I mean everyone and tell them to draw it on….” Sheppard stared at Winchester.

Dean, busy drawing did not look up and replied, “Draw it in doorways, on doors, windows, hall ways, anything that could be considered an entrance. Then the little shits can’t enter. If there is a glowing portal already, draw it underneath it and it’ll close it.”

Sheppard cued his comm. and shouted at Chuck, “Chuck, sitrep and get me Wallstreet.”

Chuck replied instantly, his voice breathless and excited, “Dawda’s got things under contro here, Colonel, but they keep coming. Patching you through to Wallstreet, now.”

Mouthing at Rodney to call Chuck back and give him the devils trap, Sheppard waited for Lt John ‘Wallstreet’ Cunningham to answer. “Colonel?”

“Wallstreet, this is a priority. I know you are busy, but send a team to round up every single bag of salt we’ve got and deploy it to the civilian safe zones. Lay it in thick lines across doors and windows.”

“No one must break the line,” Winchester said sharply, which Sheppard relayed. Wallstreet replied, “Salt, sir?”

“Yeah. Move it, Wallstreet. We need to secure the civilians so we can focus on killing these things.”

Wallstreet sounded like he thought Sheppard had lost it, but he said, “On it, sir.”

Feeling like his heart was pounding a mile a minute, Sheppard turned to Carson and Ronon. “Ronon, go to the infirmary with Carson, take some salt and Winchester with you and secure it. I want a clear route between the infirmary and zone 1 so that we’re not cut off and don't need to fight our way through, or move the infirmary.”

Ronon nodded, Carson opened his mouth to say something, thought better of it and followed Ronon. Winchester paused, eyes on Sheppard and the Colonel snapped, “Get going, Winchester. You can explain when it's over.” Dean nodded and trotted after Ronon and Carson. The medical teams were ready to head back with the seriously injured and Ronon and Dean formed up to escort them back. Carson loaded up a few bags of salt on a gurney and the group hustled off.

While Dean walked off, Sheppard quickly requested city-wide again, and said clearly, “This is Colonel Sheppard. McKay is sending a diagram of a symbol called a devil’s trap to everyone's' tablets. It’ll stop these creatures from entering a room and it closes the glowing portals. Follow the instructions on where to draw it. Wallstreet is bringing bags of salt to the civilian safe zones. Lay thick lines of salt across the entryways. Kalen, I am on my way to you to co-ordinate South. Sheppard out.”

Rodney looked up from his screen and said, “Message has gone.”

“Thanks,” Sheppard said, even as he turned and walked towards the door. Rodney trotted after him, clutching his tablet. “Sheppard, are you sure this is a good idea? I mean, we’ve come up with a hell of a lot of cracked up ideas, but devils’ traps and salt?”

“I know, Rodney. Makes you rethink that whole ‘vodoo’ mumbo jumbo thing, huh?” Sheppard's grin was sharp and wolfish but Rodney did not smile in return.

“Come on! For all we know it was Winchester himself who closed the portal, with his freaky mind powers and not that squiggle on the table.” Rodney's eyes were wide, and his face sweaty, the blood streaked as he absently wiped away the sweat.

Unable to contradict his fear, when the sole evidence he had was a brief glimpse of Winchester near portal, Sheppard shrugged, “That’s a damn scary thought, McKay. Nothing we can do though right now. Come on, we need to get to the armoury.”

While they walked, Sheppard called Control again, and waited for Chuck to answer.

‘Colonel?’

“Are you secure yet, Chuck?”

‘Getting there, sir. Brown is struggling to get close to the hellmouth as it were. Shit!’

Chuck broke off, and Sheppard sped up, feet pounding as he broke into a steady run, McKay automatically keeping pace. Through the comm. he heard the sounds of fighting, the spine-chilling screeches of the creatures and then the screams rose to wails and there was a shout of attack from the Marines.

Breathless, Chuck finally said, ‘Sorry, sir. Brown reached the portal and drew the devil-thingy and they kinda all went wild. The portal closed though and Major Lorne sent in some reinforcements, so it looks like we got them on the ropes."

Relief flooded Sheppard and he wagged his eyebrows at McKay who was listening on the same channel. “Good. I need you to be the prime co-ordination point, Chuck. Get whoever is still on duty with you to co-ordinate with the civilians. You’ve got combat.”

‘Charlie is still here, sir. She’s already directing traffic for Carson and the department heads. Korvach has the board up and Wallstreet is reporting that the response teams are deploying quickly, fully armed with stunners, P90s and salt.”

‘Thanks. Keep me updated, Chuck. Sheppard out.’ He picked up the pace once he signed off and barely heard Chuck's, "‘Roger that, Colonel."

As he half-ran, Sheppard turned to Rodney, “So the devil’s trap works. Happy?”

Rodney grunted, wiping his forehead clear of sweat and blood once again. “Fine. Happy as a pig in mud surrounded by a pack of wolves.”

Ignoring him, Sheppard pushed up a series of small staircases, and said loudly, “Are you with me or do you want to take command at zone 2?”

Rodney pffed in dismissal, “I want to make sure that they draw the devil’s hellhole thing properly, and that Zelenka doesn’t try stealing the salt for his vodka.”

“You don’t need salt to make vodka.”

“Whatever, the man has become a kleptomaniac. I’ll take 2 and make sure 1 and 3 are ok. You go kill stuff.” McKay puffed a little as they climbed but as soon as they reached the landing, his breathing levelled out.

Sheppard nodded and as they turned the corner, they met the steady stream of non-essential science and support personnel flowing towards the designated safe zones. Tipping an invisible hat at McKay, Sheppard said, “Call if there’s trouble.”

“Like I wouldn’t.” Rodney dismissed him with an errant hand wave, his pace already picking up, and his voice rising as he hurried to take over and start bossing everyone around. John knew though that he'd make sure surface, entrance, window and crack was secure, if only to keep his own ass safe. Altruism may not be Rodney's default setting or motive, but when his interests were aligned and people were in danger, he was as steady and reliable as any combat veteran.

Sheppard left Rodney and picked up the pace to a run towards the armoury, garnering more than a few looks at his bloody state as he passed straggling civilians. He urged them to hurry with a sharp bark, and they bustled forward, faces pale and wane. The armoury was an efficient factory line, Marines, and SG team members tacing up and deploying out to defend their home, earwigs tuned into their relevant command channel. Wallstreet was in the thick of the operation, and Sheppard skipped the line and went straight for his tactical gear which some kind, thoughtful soul had already prepped for him. As he geared up, Chuck piped in and quickly relayed a status report. The first teams were engaging the enemy at several points across the City and more portals were being reported. Ronon was in the thick of dealing with the invasion in Med 1, but it seemed under control, mostly because they hadn't asked for reinforcements.

Wincing slightly as he pulled on his tac vest, and secured it, Sheppard hissed and asked sharply, “Casualty report?”

‘It’s a mess, sir. Two confirmed fatalities and medical is overrun with injuries. Keller is prepping for a secondary medical triage area.’

“And the screaming monsters?”

‘Ronon’s on it, sir.”

Sheppard signed off and strode out, snatching his P90 and a couple of stunners as he walked past. The line of Marines was short and rapidly disappearing. Good, the Majors were on point and all of the Marine Companies were deployed for defence. Nodding at Wallstreet, he asked, “We ok on supplies?”

Wallstreet’s facial expression was a picture of affront at the mere idea that he was failing as Quartermaster, but his words and tone was respectful as he confirmed, “We have adequate supplies, sir to withstand a month long siege.” He did not add the ‘as per my last report at the staff meeting’ but it was implied. Sheppard smiled, hoping he didn’t look too grisly, “Keep the re-supply lines clear. Co-ordinate through Control.”

Sheppard signed out his equipment and spare ammo and ran off, heading towards Kalen’s section.

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Dean focused on his emotional walls as he ran behind Ronon towards the infirmary, Carson and the medical teams on their heels. The rising tide of terror, excitement, fear and gritted determination was filling the halls of Atlantis as non-essential personnel hurried from their quarters to the nearest safe zones. Worrying slightly, Dean hoped that Sheppard was not creating disasters waiting to happen by gathering the more vulnerable personnel into large groups. If a portal opened in any of those areas, it would be a slaughter. Sure, they had the diagram for a devil’s trap and salt, and most would be trained on rudimentary combat as part of being on a Gate team but panicked crowds were an animal all their own. Dean fully planned on checking on each zone after they’d secured the infirmary. While it made logical sense to gather into defensible areas and free up more Marines to handle the incursion, it none the less sent a creep of worry up his spine.

The Infirmary was normally a bastion of controlled, ordered chaos with experienced personnel operating at a frenetic pace in the triage area, calmly but quickly sorting the injured into 'now, later and can wait' and rushing the serious cases into surgery. Carson and Keller’s medical teams were well trained, experienced and accustomed to the weirdness that the Pegasus galaxy and living at the edge of civilization could bring.

But a silvery glowing wormhole opening up within the walls of their domain was putting that experience and determination under serious strain. Dean ran into a growing sea of rising fear, as the squad of Marines assigned to the infirmary struggled to hold back the maelstrom of squalling, screaming terrors. Medical 1, separated from the rest of the infirmary by heavy plastisteel walls and windows was completely overrun of the blue grey creatures. The horde was still growing, angry teeth filled mouths were pressed against windows and doors, claws scrabbling and scratching at the resistant Ancient material. The only avenue for escape into the rest of the infirmary was the double door entry and every single Marine was pressed against the doors, trying to keep them closed. A shaky line of salt was edging the doorway but it looked as flimsy as a line of condiments would be against a storm. Not to mention the damage the Marines' boots were doing to its integrity.

Dean ran forward, one of the bags of salt in-hand and ripped it open. Quickly he poured a thick line around the entire section, from one side, under the windows, around the Marines and all the way to the other wall. Within the room, the monstrous creatures wailed and howled, and pressed urgently against the door, no doubt sensing the encasing salt ring. Cursing and swearing the Marines pushed back but the doors were opening inexorably under the combined weighted fury of the creatures.

“Move!” Dean barked. “Let it go and get behind the line.”

One of the Marines, Sanchez, Dean thought, exclaimed, “The hell we are. We let go, they’re going to swarm this place.”

The rest of the Marines continued to swear and curse in agreement, but Dean put enough _anger_ in his voice and snapped, “Do it! don’t break the salt!”

Behind him, Ronon added his own, “Now!” and that was enough for Sanchez and his team to comply. Still reluctant and grumbling, and obviously wary, they gave the doors one last massive shove and quickly jumped back over the line of salt Dean had poured. As one their P90s snapped up, ready to kill as many monsters as possible, no doubt convinced they were all that stood between the rest of the medical staff and vital seconds to run if the salt didn't hold. For a brief second, Dean feared he had not drawn the half circle of salt wide enough to accommodate the full arc of the open doors and his heart climbed into his throat. Had he just doomed half the injured in the room? And everybody else who couldn’t run fast enough?

The shrieks rose to an ear splitting level and the storm of creatures barrelled out through the doors. Fortunately, the arc of the swinging doors just kept within the circle as the swarm of creatures poured out of medical 1. It may have been years since he and Sam had rescued their Dad from Meg and her brother, but Dean still loved the peculiar thrill of watching a demon slam up against a salt barrier. Their raged-filled helplessness in the face of something so small and simple was friggin awesome.

The torrent of winged, screaming creatures, hell bent of ripping them to pieces crashed against the barrier of salt like a wave and spilled up against the invisible wall, tossing the crest of the wave up and back into the forward momentum. Despite his innate trust of the salt, Dean took an instinctive step back with the Marines as the first wave ‘crashed’ against the invisible wall, but his heart climbed down out of his throat as the salt held. The surge of relief as the salt worked spiked the overall tide of emotion from the Marines. They didn't stand down though, and shot at few glances at him, even as they kept their eyes trained on the threat in front of them. Contained they may be, but the creatures weren't going away and the dimension hole was obscured entirely by the packed press of dirty grey wings, claws, teeth and mal-intent.

“Now what?” Ronon said, fingers caressing his gun. Unequivocally in charge it seemed by pure virtue of his experience, Dean turned to Sanchez and asked, “Did you get everyone out?”

Eyes transfixed on the impossible invisible wall that was very much ‘there’, Sanchez nodded. “We got all the injured out, but Nurse Killian we… She went down in the first five seconds, the damn hole opened right next to her. The things poured out right on top of her. It was…”

Grimacing Dean nodded, riding the wave of fury that rose from the Marines, allowing it to fuel his own. He turned to Carson who was standing in the no man’s land between medical 1 and the rest of the infirmary. “You got salt over all the other doors and windows? Traps on the floor?”

Carson nodded, “Aye, we do. They’re going for overkill in there, Keller has every spare body drawing satanic symbols on the walls and doors. We’ve also secured the spill over halls and rooms we usually use when things get rough."

The implied 'things are really going to get rough' Dean totally agreed with. Sanchez voiced what must have been on the others' minds, "Are we sure sharpie pentagrams are going keep them safe?" Carson's eyes drifted towards the very open, very exposed medical triage area, the flapping privacy curtains wafting in the wind from the storm outside. As if in answer to the question, a series of glowing sparks appeared in the area, and the ones within a few feet of a devil's trap quickly sparked out and disappeared. Collectively, Carson and the Marine's stepped back from the sparks near them, the chorus of hellish wails from the creatures in medical one rising eerily. Dean though didn't hesitate. He tossed handfuls of salt in the air, dispersing the sparks and ran towards the largest, quickly growing hellmouth. Even as he dropped into a baseball slide under the hole, a dozen or so fiends popped out, claws outstretched, the smell of brimstone following them.

Underneath the portal, Dean jabbed the cut on his hand again and rapidly sketched out the outline of the trap. Shrieking the creatures dive bombed him and before he could think to react, Ronon shot them out of the air, the red flare of his stunner knocking them out. The second Dean closed the circle and finished the symbol the portal closed and the three creatures who had escaped Ronon's fire tore at him. They were small but terribly strong, claws and teeth as sharp as razors. Cursing, Dean _shocked_ them once he could concentrate clearly and they fell with a thud to the floor.

Ronon grimly turned his gun on the fallen bodies, shooting them on the kill setting and helped Dean to his feet. "You didn't have to demonstrate the effectiveness of that wee diagram quite so dramatically, lad, but thank goodness for that!" Carson slapped him on the shoulder and tried to examine his hand and arm which were covered in bites and scratches. "Heaven knows how filthy those beasties are and…"

Smiling grimly, Dean pulled his arm free and interrupted, "Later, Doc. Please get a couple of the not so injured civilians to start drawing big devil's traps, cover as much of the floor as possible in each room we need to secure. I have an idea on how to get that shitstorm out of medical 1."

"Can't we just leave them there…. for now?" one of the Marine's suggested, his face growing paler under the collective gaze of his Sergeant and squad.

Shaking his head, understanding and _feeling_ the Marine's reluctance to broach a secured enemy line, Dean sighed, "Nope. Salt ain't going to stop them from tunnelling out of that room. We need to close that portal or risk them getting into another section of the city."

"Great, just great," Sanchez sighed. "So what's this brilliant idea, Winchester?"

Dean grinned, "I said I had an idea, I didn't say it was brilliant, but it should be fun. Now, do we have any super-soakers and a rosary?"

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Teyla straightened from checking on Torren who was happily watching some confusing children's entertainment on her tablet and as she turned, she bumped into a fairly solid Marine.

"Oh! Forgive me, I…"

"Ms Emmangen, I apologise, I did not intend to appear so suddenly."

Teyla opened her mouth in an 'O' of astonishment. She hadn’t noticed Private Novak earlier as part of the detail protecting civilian zone 2 but that was hardly surprising. The evening had had enough chaos to warrant some confusion around where everyone was.

"Can I help you with something, Private?"

Novak nodded, his face earnest and sincere, short crew cut perfectly aligned to Marine standards. "Yes, ma'am. I have been assigned to your squad. The Colonel has ordered a wider dispersment of teams to scout for dimensional portals and track the invading creatures. I have been assigned to your team. Your comm is not working."

Startled, Teyla touched the comm. link in her ear and pulled it out. The little device was indeed no longer functioning. "Ancestors, how did that happen? It was working during the initial attack."

Novak's face was as serious and earnest as his voice as he said, "Perhaps you passed by some electrical interference on your way here. I recommend investigating… another time."

Nodding, Teyla agreed and smiled as Novak handed her another comm. which she popped into her ear and immediately heard Charlie's clear voice correlating with the civilian zones. So far only one small portal had opened in a civilian zone, but Rodney's thoroughness in covering the area with devils traps had paid off. The creatures had emerged but had had no where to go beyond a few feet. Equally fortunately, the experienced civilian personnel had calmly cleared the area and left the aborted attack to the Marines. All bar for Dr Freeman, who had wanted a closer look.

Waving over Dr Biro, Teyla asked her to keep an eye on Torren, which Biro happily agreed to. Torren barely noticed his mother walking away so engrossed was he in her tablet.

She switched to a combat channel and heard Chuck relaying the orders for additional teams, and confirmed that she acknowledged and that she and Novak were heading out. They were to patrol and scout the upper hallways and rooms of East 5, and report on any additional portals. In addition, they needed to secure each hallway and room with a devils trap.

Armed with a stunner and a sharpie, Teyla motioned for Novak to follow her, his P90 banging against his chest. The corridors outside the large room designated as zone 2 were eerily quiet. The Atlantis crew were stretched in tackling this pervasive invasion force, and the pair passed two other teams on their way to East 5. But the combat channels told the true story. The entire combat complement were engaged with defending their home and while containing the little monsters was fairly easy, closing the portals was proving difficult. The sheer volume of numbers was a serious challenge.

As Teyla ran down a long corridor one section away from East 5, with Novak close on her heels, her thoughts ran to an immediate plan to take Torren to New Athos the first chance she got. If these portals could not be stopped permanently, the city was no longer safe for her son.

So engrossed in her thoughts and caught up in scanning for emerging dimensional gates, she didn't see the flickering presence ghosting through the rooms and spaces around her. Novak however did, and an errant flick of his hand dispersed the presence.

Castiel had no idea who or what the presence was, other than some sort of ghost. Normally, if he had the time and felt so inclined, he would have sent the thing on its way, to either heaven or hell. But he had already tried that, twice before, and the thing persistently returned or remained. Earth and the souls thereon were his purview and domain. This spirit did not fall within that realm and while he had sufficient power to send it away, without knowing 'where' to send it to, it returned fairly quickly.

Teyla shot him a glance and he nodded in agreement. He had seen the beginning sparks of a portal too. It was time to go to work.

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The Colonel ducked as several ancient pieces of furniture flew close enough to decapitate. Crouched down, he signalled Kalen who shook his head. After clearing half a dozen hellmouth portals, the squads deployed to the South arm of Atlantis had run headlong into a literal army of snarling wing-born creatures near the base of S5. They were in a large passage leading to an open space in S5, which was now filled with thousands of the creatures. The sheer volume of numbers and press of attack was too much to do more than rapidly create a defensive redoubt behind the salt line across the corridor and hunker down until a better strategy emerged. Unfortunately the upper levels of S5 had several connections into the rest of the habitable buildings in the southern section of the City. They couldn't just leave the mauling pack where they were. They might find a way around the salt and traps. Equally unfortunately, these creatures demonstrated a decided intelligence. The largest of them, and given the size of the portal, these were the biggest specimens Sheppard had seen so far, were using that size and intelligence to lob loose furniture and fixtures at the Atlanteans. Makeshift missiles were not stopped by salt or devil things.

Kalen had sent two scouts to see if the lower levels were clear and judging by their reports, it wasn't looking good.

"Shit," Sheppard cursed to himself, wincing as more furniture struck the walls near them.

He touched his ear-wig and hissed at Chuck, "Colonel Sheppard here, what's the situation in the rest of the City?"

Chuck sounded a little breathless but he chirped back quickly, his voice brisk and stressed, "North and West have reported in – they've each got large swarms boxed in at a few points but more portals keep opening. There are too many of them to get close to the portals. Durov ran out of ammunition before they even made a dent, let alone a path to the portal. They are all regrouping behind salt or traps."

Cursing even more to himself, Sheppard barked, "And East? The Tower?"

"Uhn, East so far seems clear of any big swarms. The smaller teams are clearing floor by floor, sealing off each room and level with salt and traps. Central, well, similar problems. Small portals handled, a couple of trapped swarms with no real idea on how to close the portals."

"Any ideas floating around on what to try next?" Sheppard wondered if a quick comm. conference was in order, if they could all spare the time. Maybe they should make the time. Kalen was redeploying a few squads and Sheppard watched as more soldiers were sent to the other levels. They were going to be stretched pretty thin very quickly.

"Lorne needs help securing more levels, so he's got every available body with clearance doing sweeps. It’s dangerous though, Rameriz and Hobkirk were nearly eaten alive before Grear reached them. No ideas, Colonel, just running to keep up it seems," Chuck replied, sounding a bit distracted as he no doubt multi-tasked trying to keep everything co-ordinated.

Over his shoulder, Sheppard heard Kalen deploying even more soldiers to the lower levels. While the devil's trap seemed to work vertically once drawn, the salt didn't. South had a lot of large buildings, mostly unused and clear of people, but it was a lot of ground to try and secure. “Has Wallstreet confirmed how we are doing with supplies?”

Chuck coughed and in the background, Sheppard could hear Charlie arguing with someone over the comm. “He has, sir. We’re getting low on salt, especially given how generous the scientists have been with the barriers. Wallstreet is looking into that salt extractor again.”

Sheppard winced, both at the screams from the creatures, who were ripping at the walls now and the idea of Wallstreet’s marines tinkering with the saline converter again. Everyone was already tired after a long normal working day. It was close to 22h00 and there was no end in sight. "Put me through the Winchester, Chuck."

"Right away, Colonel."

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“Holy Hand Grenade Mark I, ready?”

Niggles, one of Sanchez’s team nodded, his face grim as he lined up their macgyvered catapult, but his eyes were alight with excitement. Carson was anxiously hovering near Ronon, having donated to the cause as it were in supplying the means to make the catapult and ‘grenades’ but his expression and vibe was one of undecided anxiety – was this all a waste of effort and just a bunch of overgrown kids playing at war? Or a real solution?

Ronon was calmly ready for anything.

Dean smiled to himself, certain none of the internal glee he felt was visible or leaked out. He hoped.

“Fire!”

Niggles fired and a very un-aerodynamic medical latex glove filled with salt water flew through the air like the ghost of a cartoon chicken. Filled to bursting, Dean still nonetheless feared that the balloon wouldn’t break on contact, and would only bounce, so he watched its glorious arc with anticipation, willing it to work.

The collective marines, sceptical medical staff and bystanders all tracked the same trajectory, a real life slow motion moment. Only it wasn’t slow motion, it was over in seconds.

A responding cheer broke as cleanly as the ‘grenade’ did. The spray of salt water worked as well, if not better than Dean had hoped. The horde of trapped (but probably not for long) creatures shrieked in unison as the salt in the water touched them. Those creatures at the centre of the blast shrieked loudest, their skin smoking and burning.

No time to waste, Dean shouted, “Mark II, ready?”

Niggles was ready, the second variety primed for deployment. “Fire!”

Mark II was filled with holy water. A somewhat reluctant Marine named Wright had offered his rosary to Dean when there appeared to be none in the immediate area. Wright’s offering was well rewarded when Mark II caused even more damage, several of the monsters falling to the floor, burned husks still smoking. The swell of very tangible anger and fear from the swarm grew. Wright’s grin was viciously delighted. Hell, all of the Marines were fairly bouncing on their heels with excitement.

Delighted and undeterred, Dean said, “Ready Mark III.”

Niggles was way ahead of him, Mark III locked and loaded. The young Marine was radiating pride and deep, violent satisfaction, fully aware of the jealously of his team. “Fire!”

Carson leant over and hissed at Dean. “You are enjoying this, aren’t you, lad?” Dean grinned. Who would have thought the hours he and Sam spent perfecting and testing the holy hand grenade would prove to be useful afterall. Demons or ghosts didn’t usually stay put in one place long enough for this to be effective. Rocksalt shotgun loads had been a natural outgrowth of those hours spent on the roof during a scorching Missouri summer testing a variety of home made water-balloons. In retrospect, Dad may have been angrier at the waste of good medical supplies than the waste of time, but old man Simmons’s cat hadn’t been impressed at all.

Mark III was met with another cheer from the Atlanteans and a scream from the trapped horde. Blessed salt water, or holy sea water, caused even more damage. It created a visible hole in the swarm as blue grey bodies fell in a wave as the water hit, but it was quickly filled as more creatures flew through the portal.

“So it works lad, but what now? You lot could lob these things all day, but I only have so many gloves in stock and those beasties keep coming through.” Carson watched as Niggles shot the back up versions of each Mark to verify the results, but it was pretty clear. Holy Seawater for the win. The swarming monsters though were in an uproar, writhing and straining against the salt barrier. Their malevolent malice and hate rose to a frenzy.

Dean nodded. Carson was spot on in his surmise. The Marines would spend all day and night shooting at the creatures and it would make no real difference in the end. Closing the portal was the main thing, as he doubted the monsters from the hell dimension would run out of reinforcements before they ran out of balloons or buckets. Alas, the first item on his request list, a supersoaker, had not materialised. While not impossible, it was doubtful that anyone onboard Atlantis had bothered to bring an oversized water gun, but right now, Dean kinda wished that the Marines had once had a full on inter-Company water war. Oh well.

“Don’t worry, Doc. Plan B will work.”

“What was Plan A?” both Sanchez and Carson asked.

Dean did not bother to reply. “Does anyone know if the City has a fire suppression system?”

Carson sighed, “Aye, lad, it does but it’s gas based, and hazardous to people. I…”

Chuck’s excited voice interrupted and the young Canadian said brightly, “Dean, the Colonel for you.” Everyone paused and Dean replied smartly, “Colonel?”

Sheppard sounded tired, and the background noise of shrieking creatures rose and fell in waves. Raising his voice a little over a particularly loud chorus, Sheppard barked, “We’ve got swarms trapped all over the city but no quick way to get to the portals to close them. Any bright ideas?”

Dean shot Ronon a look, who shrugged in return and he replied, “Do you have a stockpile of water guns by chance? Super soakers or something?”

There was a beat of silence from Sheppard and his answering reply was a long drawl, “Salt water? Really?”

“Blessed salt water is even better, we just need a more effective delivery system than holy hand-grenades.”

There was another beat of silence and Sheppard sighed, “I assume Carson knows you raiding his supplies, Winchester?” Before Dean could reply, the Colonel continued, “How much of a hole do your water balloons create?”

Dean and the Marines shared a look and they all nodded, Niggles and Martins postulating five to six feet in diameter at least. Dean replied at bit more conservatively with, “I think Mark III got us at least 4 feet, Colonel. A quick succession could do more, but the swarm closes the hole pretty damn quick.”

Chuck said over the comm,.”Colonel, I’m patching in the other Captains. They’re all asking the same questions so…”

On the other side of the comm. Sheppard was silent, and the collective Military leadership who Chuck had all patched in waited for a response. Durov’s Russian tinged rumble echoed through the command channel, “What we need is riot gear or protective armour. Take the battle to these демоны.”

Lorne agreed, his voice almost inaudible under the screams and wails as his company of Marines battled in their sector, “We managed to push our way to a small portal, but the squad was nearly shredded. We had to rush them off the med 2. We can keep doing that, but it’s going to cost us dearly.”

A quick note of relief flooded Dean when he heard Teldy say, “Some of the things coming out of portals now are massive. If we don’t close them soon, Lorne’s technique may not work so easy.”

Before anyone else could comment, Sheppard spoke, his voice suddenly bright with an idea, “Wallstreet, are you on?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Do we still have those ceremonial shields the Appians traded to us?”

There was silence from Wallstreet and everyone else as they waited. Off comm. they could hear him yelling at a few of his people and after a few seconds he answered, “Sure do, Colonel. But those things are about as strong as cardboard. Wouldn’t it be better to call the SGC and ask them for riot shields and more manpower?”

Chuck interrupted with a sheepish cough, “Ah, Colonel. Small problem there.”

“What now, Chuck?”

“Charlie and I tried to dial out after a…. uhm… theoretical discussion and uhm… she was right. The gate engages but the wormhole doesn’t form. It flickers in and out and then disappears, ah, disengages.”

The ripple of fear from the Marines made Dean’s teeth itch and he could feel everyone else’s nerves rise at that bit of news even though they were scattered across the City. “What was the theoretical discussion, Chuck?” Sheppard drawled, anger colouring his voice.

Again, off comm. they could hear Chuck talking to Charlie, who was refusing to explain her theory and Chuck replied with a sigh, “Well, ah, it was that if the devil’s traps close dimensional portals or disrupt existing ones, could the mathematics behind the traps ah, uhm… disrupt the StarGate. And well, uhm, it does.”

Dean shifted on his feet nervously, feeling responsible even if this outcome could hardly have been expected. The Infirmary was packed with people, as more and more injured personnel and Marines came in, all in various states of injury. Med 1’s writhing swarm of monsters looked like it was about to burst any second, and Dean had to tamp down firmly on the rise of his own fear and worry. He sure as hell didn’t want to add to everyone’s anxiety. It was hard enough keeping all of their emotions at bay, let alone adding to the situation. The last thing Atlantis needed in a combat situation was people panicking.

No one however said anything to or at him. Instead, Sheppard just sighed and said, “So until we can shut these things down permanently, we’re not going anywhere. Wallstreet, are you sure those shields are useless?”

Lorne chipped in, “What are you thinking, Colonel?”

While Chuck had been talking, Wallstreet must have got his hands on a shield and his voice when he replied was hopeful, “Actually, Colonel, I think they’re ok. Not as strong as I’d like and probably won’t last terribly long, but if you’re thinking what I think you are thinking, I think it could, uhm… work?”

Durov laughed loudly over the comm., drowning out a few chuckles from the others. Sheppard coughed, his smile audible. “Here’s the plan, so Wallstreet get ready to run those shields out to everyone near a cornered swarm.”

The Marines straightened, Sanchez’s back ramrod straight, their eyes bright. Dean noted that all other personnel in the infirmary were also watching, their expressions keen and hopeful. Ronon was twitching with supressed adrenalin and Dean smiled quietly to himself. Sheppard sounded a little excited himself and his enthusiasm was buoyed by a fiendish desire to take back their City. He said calmly, “Water balloons create a breach, small Roman tortoise pushes in towards the portal. More balloons keep the swarm back, tortoise reaches the portal and closes it. More tortoises armed with stunners to follow the first if the portal is too far.”

Durov roared through the comm.,”I like it!”

Carson though added a concern, “Colonel, all well and good but I don’t have unlimited supplies, you know. We may run out of gloves before we do portals.”

Wallstreet replied, his voice also tinged with excitement, “Got you covered there, doc. Plenty of condoms and other inflatable plastics in stock we can convert.”

“Oh aye, terrific lad. I can just imagine what inflatable stock you have.”

Cutting off the laughter, Sheppard said firmly but gently, “We need to get a production line for the balloons going and lets kick these things in the teeth before we lose half the city to them. Everyone in the civilian zones can help.”

A round of yes sirs ended the conversation and everyone signed off to pass the message on. Dean stood for a second, surrounded by excited Marines and Ronon who were already discussing who was going to breach and who was going to toss holy hand grenades in support. The mood was lifting, now that they had a plan that wasn’t solely based on salt and weird diagrams. There was one thing they hadn’t covered though – how were they going to stop the portals from appearing at all? And why had they started appearing in the first place?

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“They’re planning what?” Woolsey’s face was a bit red under the spray of dried blood from shallow head wound. He’d narrowly missed losing an eye to a screaming creature before a Marine had stunned it, and he was barricaded with the rest of the control room staff behind a collection of desks and furniture to protect the controls and a route to escape.

Charlie, who had lost at rock paper scissors on who was briefing him, nodded grimly. She was sporting her own collection of scratches and cuts, but nothing as graphic as Woolsey’s horror fest of blood spray. “Roman tactics, combined with water balloons and Winchester’s devils traps.”

Woolsey sighed, and asked unhappily, “Has McKay figured out where these things are coming from, what caused this attack?”

Nodding, Charlie said, “Unfortunately not yet. He’s working on it, in between co-ordinating with the other physicists. But nothing yet.”

“And the Gate?”

Wincing at the memory of Rodney’s tone and volume, she replied quietly, “Uhm, he said to wipe off the satanic symbols and pray to whatever voodoo god we wanted that that worked.”

“Ah. Well. Where are we most stretched, Miss Granger?”

“Medical sir, and well, the combat areas. While the injuries are minor, it’s the blood loss that has the medical staff most worried. They’ve started collecting blood from civilians, sir.”

Woolsey nodded and said, “Good. Is the path to zone 1 clear?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good, then I am going to go there and help. Donate blood, make balloons. It’s better than just sitting here waiting for news. Keep me apprised, Miss Granger.”

Charlie nodded and helped him to his feet. “Yes, sir.”

As she watched him walk away, she grimaced as she explored a cut on her lip with her tongue. Most of the Marines on Gate-room duty were gone to help elsewhere and the control room was very quiet, skeleton staff deployed. Idly, she muttered to herself, “What we need is a water-bender. Drown the bastard things.”

“What did you say, Charlie?” Chuck called and she replied, “Nothing.”

“Then get back here. Zone 3 are panicking! Some fool broke a water balloon over a salt line.”

“On my way.”

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“Fire!”

Sheppard watched in anticipation as several of Kalen’s Marines hurled filled to bursting gloves and condoms at the trapped swarm right over the heads of the modern testudo who were poised, ready to push into the breach. The swarm completely filled the room, a squalling, writhing mass bodies and wings. How they were still able to move and fly in the press was incredible.

The missiles burst and the impact result was spectacular. The horde collectively drew back, screeching in pain, dozens of bodies fell to the floor and into the hole, the shield protected Marines rushed. An enterprising corporal had suggested taking balloons with them inside the tortoise, and to wet their shields. It worked like a dream. The creatures attacked and instantly drew back, burned by the holy seawater on the metal. When an opportunity presented itself, both the Marines inside the formation and those back behind the salt line threw balloons and created space for the tortoise. It was slow going, and Lt Gold, instead the formation, was barely audible over the cacophony of screams. “They’re pretty strong, Colonel. Can you see the portal yet? How much further?”

It was difficult to see through the collected mass of monsters, and Sheppard growled, “Keep going straight ahead, Lieutenant. You’ll probably see it before we do.” Behind him in the corridor, Kalen’s Marines waited, shields held at the ready, ready to rush and help Gold if needed. The supply of holy water balloons was dwindling quickly and they had received quite a large batch.

John threw a few gloves as well, careful not to get the salt line too wet. As a back up, they drawn a devil’s trap after the salt, and it looked like they would need it. The spray of water was collecting on the ground in large puddles. The smell of burning creatures was acrid and foul, their grey, sickly blood was thick in the air.

The testudo’s progress was slow but steady and fortunately the Marines’ aim was good, and it wasn’t too long before Gold shouted, “I can see it, Colonel. We’re close. Take two steps right, guys and …”

It happened. Unseen, a trickle of water from a large puddle broke the salt line and a pile of dead creatures rolled over the devil’s trap line. Like a biological bomb, the creatures burst free and screamed towards the startled Marines.

Fortunately years of service on Atlantis had them all prepared for surprises and a wave of balloons, stunner fire and makeshift metal weapons met the swarm. Sheppard braced himself, a shield held at the ready and he met the wave with a grunt. The things were definitely stronger than they looked. He fired steadily, stunning dozens but the sheer weight of numbers was incredible. They were swarming all over him, biting, clawing and ripping. Over the comm. he barely heard Kalen rallying his troops. In desperation, Sheppard dropped the stunner and pulled out a machete he normally reserved for dense jungle worlds. Swinging steadily, he tried to create some space, sweeping biting things off his legs and arms, but as fast he did, more attacked. They were on his back, at his neck and all it would take was one lucky claw and he was bleeding out.

“A little help here!” he shouted, but there was no answering reply.

Desperate, John retreated, searching for a wall to put his back against. He crushed half a dozen creatures as he found a wall to put his back against, and hunched his heck into his shoulders, trying to protect his throat. The screaming monsters were relentless, tearing and clawing as fast he was cutting them out of the air. The shield was a huge help, but it only protected his top half. His legs were taking a beating and Sheppard nearly dropped to his knees as one of the creatures bit into his calf. It died in a spray of blood but the scent of an open wound seemed to infuriate them further. More and more of the grey, screaming things pressed at him, clawing, biting, ripping.

“Got it!” Lt. Gold cried and the bright glow of the portal disappeared. The creatures wailed but did not stop attacking. In fact their attack increased, in final desperation. Sheppard buckled, dropping to his knees and slashed endlessly, cutting more and more creatures off of him. He had to get to his feet.

A fairly large sized creature latched onto his arm and bit his wrist, immobilising the machete. Cursing, Sheppard cried out, “Shit! Get off you f…”

Something hit him and broke open in a mist of water and the attacking monsters fled, screaming, burning. More balloons hit him, drenching him and then he was surrounded by a squad of Marines with shields. “Can you stand, Colonel?”

Shaking his head and hand, Sheppard nodded, breathing heavily. “Yeah, yeah.” Staggering a bit, he stood and Captain Kalen grinned at him, looking like an extra from a gore fest horror. “Can you move? We need to go get Gold and his squad. They’re being eaten alive.”

Wincing as he gripped his machete, Sheppard nodded, “Let’s go.”

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TBC

 


	4. Chapter 4

John bumped into Dean in the long twisting corridor between S11 and E12. Rodney had once remarked that the corridor must have been a late addition to the Atlantis structure. He, Radek and a few of the engineers had been debating, or in Rodney's case arguing on whether Atlantis had been constructed all at once, like a space ship or in pieces, over time, like a true city. Fortunately, there were a few spots within the city that validated Rodney's theory of piecemeal construction. The twisty corridor was one. It matched in terms of construction material and interior design, but appeared to have been an after-thought. Rodney had theorised that the Ancients had realised that it was a long walk to the respective transporters in each sector and had whipped up a quick fix.

"Colonel, are you ok?"

Sheppard blinked, shook his head and grimaced at pull of the half a dozen cuts and slices that re-opened with the movement. "Winchester," he growled and grabbed the tall man's arm. Through the haze of exhaustion and pain, he towed Dean to one side, away from the noise of Marine platoons and in-coming comm. calls. Sheppard made sure his comm. was off and said in a low voice, his words sharp and biting, "You tell me right now how those frigging traps work."

Dean stared at the Colonel, his expression startled, eyes wide and mouth slightly agape. Flecks of dried blue blood covered the guy's face, adding a riot to the scattering of freckles on his cheeks, aside from his own collection of cuts and bruises. Sheppard half expected Winchester to wave his question off, say that there was no time to discuss anything. He braced himself, muscles poised to react, haul the guy into line if need be. Dean matched his posture and mood, vibrating tension and anger, frustration even. His eyes kept darting around, watching the Marines, tracking all the movement, ready for an attack.

"Look, Colonel…"

His grip on Winchester's arm tightened, vice-like and John closed the small distance between them, anger fuelling him more than anything else. "I have been fighting freaking monsters for hours with no end in sight. Literal monsters. You… you are an unknown, Winchester and just miraculously have a way to keep these things trapped. Not gone, not stopped – just dead and trapped. I need to know more. Now!"

They were getting more than a few nervous glances from the Marines who were almost done regrouping. Whole sections of the City were being abandoned behind salt lines and devils traps as the swarms of monsters grew. Right now, the focus was on closing portals within the inhabited parts of the City. That effort alone was bringing the collected armed forces of Atlantis to its knees. As fast as they closed portals, more and more opened in the distant, unused parts of the City. Sheppard forced himself to stand straighter and under that furious gaze, Dean wilted. The resistance drained from him and Sheppard saw a young, tired man as worried as he was. "Colonel, I've been wracking my brain for a solution and I just…"

"The traps." Angry exhaustion sparked in his voice. Maybe if Sheppard could just understand 'how' the traps worked, a solution would present itself. McKay kept trying to contact him on the comm. to confab about ideas and theories, but Sheppard didn't have the time to brainstorm.

Propping himself up against a wall, hands shaking, Winchester sighed, "I don't know how they work, just that they do." Dean's eyes fluttered, darting every which way but Sheppard's face. His tone though was resigned.

"How? How did you know they'd work?" Sheppard pulled at his tac vest, wincing as something protested in his side. He was bleeding somewhere, he could feel the growing wetness under his vest. His left arm was swathed in bandages, after an overly enthusiastic medic had decided that more bandages meant less hurt. Dean shrugged. "My Dad. He taught us things... odd things. Including the Key of Solomon, Devil's traps and salt. Good for fighting demons."

"Demons?" Sheppard tried not to sound too incredulous, too sceptical, but shit – Demons?

Dean stared out of the window, at the pitch dark stormy night encasing the City. He pursed his lips and said, "Short version, Colonel. My dad hunted monsters and ghosts and I know it sounds crap-ass crazy. I smelt sulphur when those little shits attacked and I put two and two together. Demons reek of sulphur, demons hate salt." He shot Sheppard an odd look, like he was trying to gauge the level of disbelief. Whatever he saw, he continued regardless, "I had a theory, I tested it and it worked." John studied Dean – his expression and posture, trying to ascertain any miniscule trace of deception.

"I honestly have no idea why it works – on demons or this creatures – it just does." Dean's voice was flat, unemotional. Sheppard slumped slightly, the anger draining from him, joining his high hopes at the bottom of his boots. "Shit."

Dean flicked his gaze at Sheppard and paused, mouth hard, clearly thinking about something. Debating something internally perhaps. Sheppard waved his good hand at him, and shook his head, "Spill it."

"We've got them bottled up but the City is too big." Sheppard nodded. All too true. It would take an entire army to secure the City now and trying to do it sector by sector risked a massive drain on resources. Lorne's last report was that N77 was literally crawling with the things, spewing out creatures the size of cars and trucks.

Dean continued, eyes still focused on Sheppard, "Maybe what we should be asking is – where did they come from? Or rather, why now? What happened or brought them here?"

Frowning, Sheppard rubbed his face and murmured, "Its Atlantis, weird shit happens."

"Really? Without any cause or underlying motive or reason?" Dean edged closer, his voice near a whisper. "Colonel, think about it. Atlantis has been here for years and nothing like this has happened. Everything was fine and then, wham, a portal vomiting out creatures from another dimension. Shit like that doesn't 'just' happen."

Oh, how he wished for a cool place to lie down, rest and think this through. Dean was right but hell if Sheppard could string more than a single coherent thought together. It made sense – that there had to be a cause to this effect, even if it was a cause beyond their understanding. "We're talking a pretty broad spectrum of potential causes, Winchester."

At this, Dean nodded and said, "Sure, but doesn't the City or Rodney have sensors or something. Equipment that tracks … stuff?"

"Stuff?" Sheppard couldn't help the teasing tone and Dean rolled his eyes.

"Energy spikes. Weird radiation, space anomalies, alien technology…." Dean trailed off, a sheepish smile on his face at John's expression. Sheppard though was thinking. It wasn't beyond reason that the City may have picked something up – at least at the start of the attack. Was it technology at work? An attack, rather than a freak thing? Sighing, John muttered more to himself than Dean, "Why am I only thinking of this now?"

"Pressing need to make sure we don't all get eaten?" Dean suggested helpfully, and Sheppard grunted even as he tapped his comm. and asked for Rodney. Once Chuck had patched him through, he was greeted with, " _I am not a machine, Hugo! Stop breathing down my neck, you pot-bellied over-grown_..."

"Rodney."

" _What_?" McKay sounded both relieved and furious – so fairly normal for him and John pressed on before he was treated to a diatribe of complaints and demands. "Stop whatever it is you're doing and get to Control. Check all the readings around the time the first hellhole opened in the mess hall. See what if anything the City picked up at the time – from a science perspective." He winced even as he said the words. Way to sound cool and intellectual, John.

Stunned silence answered him for five full seconds and then Rodney barked, _"You want to find a logical reason for voodoo, hellmouths spewing out demonic monsters?"_

"Yes."

Sheppard could hear Rodney arguing with someone off comm. and tossing something in the air, before he replied with, " _Fine. Probably should have looked hours ago. Fine. I'm going_." He was pissed with himself for not thinking of it sooner and Sheppard understood the feeling. In all fairness though, the devils traps and salt had thrown logic and reason for a loop but they still should have thought about it. Before Sheppard could turn back to Winchester, Chuck piped up, " _Colonel, everyone has pulled back to the designated safe areas, but there are nearly twenty people who haven't checked in. The civilian zones are secure, no portal has appeared in them, or any of the infirmaries or Control for over an hour."_

"It's just the rest of the City that's being over-run," Sheppard replied, gaze turning to the Marines who were now done with securing the corridor and this section. ´ _Yes, sir. All the inhabited areas are behind our lines, as it were, but portals keep appearing inside the 'safe' zone. Teldy is co-ordinating response teams to close portals but …"_

"Give me the command channel, Chuck."

_"Done."_

Dean was still looking out of the window, occasionally glancing at Sheppard, gauging his emotions or something. John sighed to himself, trying not to be irritated. Constant wariness was one thing, rampant paranoia was another. He'd get to the bottom of Winchester's story after this was over. And a day long nap. The nap would come first. John keyed his comm. and said, " _This is Sheppard. I want everyone to pull back into the safe zones. Leave the rest of the City for now. Majors, each of you set up roaming patrols to scope out portals opening and take them out before anything comes through. Re-supply, get the wounded to medical and let's re-group in Control."_

Lorne piped up and said, " _Colonel, we risk letting those things build up to numbers that will be impossible to clear out. We could lose most of the City."_

Sheppard nodded, feeling every inch of hard road spent fighting the endless stream of creatures already. "I get it, Major, but closing the portals doesn't stop more from opening. We've sealed off entire buildings and then portals still appear inside the rooms. Unless the trap is under the portal…"

His Russian rumble barely intelligible, Durov interrupted, " _How did civilian 1 and 2 keep safe?"_

Really wanting to sit down, Sheppard leant against the wall and sighed, "Rodney had them draw a devils trap that covered the whole floor. Same with all the civilian areas. Only then did the portals stop entirely."

" _So what we need is super big trap for the whole city, yes?"_

"Tell you what Major, you figure out how, we'll do it."

_"Da, ok. We're on it."_

Over the comm. the various senior officers were silent and eventually Teldy said, " _Colonel's right. Let's regroup and figure out our next steps – see if Durov can pull one out of the bag_."

Everyone else agreed, their 'yes, sirs' short as they keyed off. "Come on, let's go see what Rodney's found." Sheppard pealed himself off the wall, stifling a groan as he did. He shook off Winchester's offer to help, his outstretched hand to steady him ignored. Lt. Kalen motioned to his men to start heading back to the Tower.

Collectively they all looked worse for wear, extras from a horror gore-fest gone wrong. The stock pile of holy-hand grenades looked as incongruous as a rubber chicken in a fox hunt, plastic and water pitted against fangs and claws. It was time to start thinking and doing more than just react.

Sheppard hefted his P-90 in place, checked to make sure his machete was still secure and stepped out into the broader hallway leading to the nearest transport.

Naturally, that was when a portal opened up, right on top of him.

*sga*spn*sga*spn*sga*spn*sga*spn*sga*spn*sga*spn*sga*spn*sga*spn*sga*spn*sga*spn

Teyla groaned as the last creature died, Private Novak's machete making short work of it. She was exhausted, arms burning and a worrying shake in her legs. It was a relief to hear the order to pull back and she motioned to Novak. "You ok?"

"Yes," Novak replied and he sheathed his machete. The guy barely looked phased by the hours of fighting, and despite the masking spray of monster blood all over him, appeared unrattled. "I'm going to swing by zone 2 and check on Torren,"

Following her, and scanning the area for potential threats, Novak nodded, "I will accompany you." Teyla opened her mouth to protest that she did not need the assistance, but thought better of it. There was no harm in sticking together and for all of his stiffness and formality, Novak was a steady comrade in battle. It took far too much effort to summon enough energy to jog back to East 5, but Teyla managed, Novak's light footfalls behind her.

The corridors were eerily quiet, and the occasional battle scene, walls and surfaces covered in blood, the odd symbols in black pen etched out, added to the atmosphere. Atlantis, even late at night, normally hummed with life, and energy. It felt subdued, abandoned. As they entered the sections designated for the physicists and engineering labs, the sense of abandonment increased. Through open doors, evidence of the rapid retreat was obvious. Spilled cups of coffees, computer screens flickering, half-eaten meals and snacks on work stations, paper which was such a rare commodity at times scattered on the floor. Teyla scanned the area, alert for possible attack via a portal, Pvt Novak close on her heels. A flicker of movement in one of the labs caught her eye, the familiar pattern of Atlantean architecture there and suddenly not and then back again. Worried she was tired and exhaustion might be a factor, Teyla paused, watching for the motion again.

"Ms Emmagan?"

"There," she nodded, as the brief flicker occurred again, the blue of the wall breaking like it was faulty.

"I see it."

As one, they turned towards the room and Teyla slipped in cautiously, and scanned the room. She didn't recognise the lab, but then she was only really familiar with Rodney and Radek's labs. The room reeked of coffee and a sharper, more metallic smell – blood. There were the usual screens on workstations, various tablets and equipment scattered around. Nothing out of the ordinary, as far as they could see, bar for the fact that the wall at the back of the room occasionally flickered. The room also seemed smaller than usual, but then the science teams could be using space designated as storage for a lab.

Quietly, Novak followed Teyla towards the wall in question and they both stared at the intermittent wall until the Private said, "It isn't real," and stepped right through it. Teyla's heart skipped a little but she followed him and felt nothing as she walked through the wall. On the other side a scene of carnage and destruction greeted them. The room was far larger than originally thought and there were all manner of boxes and cartons stacked in half-broken towers, fallen boxes scattered all over, the contents of which lying about like debris from a storm. Burned, still smouldering bodies of the creatures attacking Atlantis decorated the room in a macabre picture of death and gore.

A solitary work station stood in the middle of the room, surrounded by boxes and crates, the screen for the computer completely covered in blood. Cautiously, Teyla made her way closer, alert for danger. The area around the work station was the centre of the conflict and amidst the chaos of overturned crates and dead creatures, the lone defender of this room had made his stand. Teyla didn't recognise the man and that was mostly due to the horrible way he'd died. The creatures had torn into his chest and abdomen, scattering organs and bones. His head was mostly intact, but was not attached to his body, lying a few inches from his body. Blood splattered the crates and walls, pieces of skin and flesh. The creatures hadn't devoured him, they had merely torn him to pieces and then departed, seeking fresh victims.

Teyla felt her stomach rebel, the smell overwhelming and she gulped in shallow breaths, trying not to inhale too much. Novak was impassive, face unreadable and unmoved. Teyla tapped her comm., about to report in the first fatality when the screen of the computer on the work station caught her eye. The interface looked strange, not like the usual system the SGC used, or even the Ancient database. The screen was black, the writing in green and a series of one line commands stared back at her. The unusual interface, the commands and the chaotic blood splatter intrigued her.

She stepped closer and stared at the words. It took a second for their meaning to sink in and Teyla's pulse raced as she re-read the words. "Ms Emmagan?"

_Device placed in largest public area. Confirm ready status._  
Confirmed. Test will occur at 19h00 Atlantis time today. Mother device ready.  
Did you morons even bother testing the mother device? What the hell where those things?  
Home base? You there?  
They aren't going away! They're everywhere! Turn it off!  
Monroe! Turn it off?! I'm going to toss the turtle into the damn ocean! They are still coming. Monroe!

Teyla shot Novak a look, her heart still racing. This could not be a co-incidence, could it? Tapping her comm., Teyla barked, "Chuck, put me through to John, on a one to one line, please."

Over the comm, Chuck's tone was harassed and harried, _"Ah, one … second Teyla, little busy here."_

"It's important, Chuck!"

" _I'm sure it is, ma'am, but Durov and his men are cut off near the Central Tower. Somehow a trap was broken, or something and they are under attack, I need to…"_ Teyla signed off politely, leaving him to the unfolding drama.

Private Novak murmured, "The Colonel needs to be alerted, ma'am."

"Agreed, but perhaps in person. Central is .. struggling and hopefully John will be there by now."

The stiff Marine nodded, his grip on his P-90 casual, like it was an afterthought. "Perhaps I should stay here and ensure the scene is secure." It was unlikely that anyone else would interfere, but given the implications of the message and the secret room, perhaps not everyone on Atlantis was trustworthy. Teyla studied the Private. He was new, had perhaps arrived with the last set of transfers, but she wasn't certain. Could he be trusted?

Teyla smiled and said, "Let's wait here together. Keep looking for clues."

A quizzical, confused look flashed across Novak's face, and his brows furrowed, "Clues about what?"

"Like who this poor man was, why he was corresponding with someone and why he has a crate full of zat'nik'tels?" As Teyla turned, her focus still on Novak, just in case, she continued, "And why he wanted to keep this part of the room a secret."

"Ah, understood."

Silently, Teyla added Private Novak onto her list of things to query. He seemed odd, even for an earthling.

*sga*spn*sga*spn*sga*spn*sga*spn*sga*spn*sga*spn*sga*spn*sga*spn*sga*spn*sga*spn

The Gate Room was in a state of frantic, organised chaos by the time Sheppard arrived. McKay had evicted several techs from the sensor stations and Chuck was under serious pressure co-ordinating emergencies across the City. John had despatched Teldy to assist Durov, and Carson was bleating about needing assistance in Medical.

Dawn was only a few hours away and the entire population of Atlantis was run ragged. Wallstreet had most of the civilians making holy hand grenades and assisting in re-securing the rooms in buildings around the Tower. But tired people made mistakes and that was exactly why Durov was in trouble. The trap in the room his people had been crossing through had been drawn badly, or outright incorrectly. A portal had opened up right on top of them and Sheppard knew exactly how that felt. Who knew how many more traps in the supposedly safe zone were faulty?

Wallstreet had seconded several comm. channels and was co-ordinating a room by room sweep checking the traps with people known for having a detailed eye. Any civilian with even the smallest amount of medical training had been deployed to the infirmaries to help with the sheer volume of injuries. Chuck and Charlie were bringing in the scattered teams, Lorne and most of Kalen's teams still making their way in from the scattered buildings in the West and South. Ronon met him as he walked in and gave him an unimpressed look. His tall friend was as cut up and battered as everyone else but seemed to find John's bandages and limp amusing. He rumbled, "Lorne called in. The West pier is crawling with these things. Some of them are the size of a jumper. You got a plan?"

"Maybe," Sheppard nodded and snagged the back of Winchester's vest as the young man tried to dodge left when Sheppard went right, up the stairs to Rodney. Dean's startled 'awk!' made John grin and Ronon slip into position by his side. Winchester sighed, but followed them up the stairs. McKay was dancing around the computers linked to the City's sensors, Radek and a few other scientists at his side. "Anything, Rodney?"

McKay pointed a sharp, irritated finger at John, mouth working silently as he stared at the screen, other hand flying over the keys and Ancient interface. Zelenka was biting his thumb, eyes darting over a series of readouts, hair wild as usual. All of the scientists looked ragged, a few had cuts and monster blood on their faces and clothes, but other than that, seemed ok. Sheppard abruptly felt Ronon's hand on his elbow and a wave of exhaustion washed over him. "I'm ok," he mumbled and Ronon really looked like he believed that. Dean sat down on one of the stairs and John stared at him with real jealousy, but figured if he sat, he wasn't getting back up any time soon. He wasn't leaning against Ronon, no he wasn't. Sheppard stared at McKay.

"Rodney?"

"Yeah, yeah, hang on. Bit busy…"

A rolling crack of thunder split the heavens overhead and lightning flashed, casting the room into bright contrast, afterimages dancing before their eyes. "Is it still raining?" Sheppard murmured, trying to hear over the crowd in the room, but no one answered him. Charlie was sitting under her station, eyes focused on a tablet tracking teams. Chuck was coughing into his arm, his throat dry and hoarse. Near the Gate, one of the Marines flinched as a spark from a portal tried to form and winked out, the massive devil's trap on the floor holding.

"Ah ha!" McKay's face was flushed and red, black sharpie smudges all over his hands. "A spike of unusual energy at nineteen hundred this evening… yesterday. Followed by… the first surge of trans-dimensional energy. There! You see it?" McKay physically dragged Zelenka closer and the Czech peered at the screen, his face highlighted by the harsh light. "There is such a small time difference, Rodney, are you…"

"Yes, yes. See, there. The energy readings are close, but they are two distinct types. A… signal almost, it reads like a transmission spike, but not and then that.. there," and Rodney's finger tapped the screen rapidly. "That there is dimensional and I know dimensional energy signatures. I'd say it was the first hellmouth opening."

"Ok, sure," Zelenka said, still peering at the screen.

The pair stared at the screen some more, their expressions a mix of furrowed worry and interest. Tired and impatient, Sheppard barked, "And? Anything we can use? A source? A cause?"

Rodney's head snapped up, mouth open, but Zelenka beat him by milliseconds, "Not really. The sensors are going crazy with the portals. They are picking up portals opening all over the City and the mainland. On the grid, the safe zone is almost a blank and now that we've fine-tuned the sensors we can probably send teams to stop portals before they get too big, but as for the rest of the City…"

Zelenka dragged the image of the City onto the big screen overhead and Sheppard frowned at the picture. Almost the entire City, aside from the narrow column around the Tower and a few buildings near the Tower, was awash with readings of incoming dimension portals. "Great."

Furious at the interruption, Rodney growled, "More important, there is this." He pulled up a scan of the City at 19h00 and pointed at the blip in the mess hall. "That's the transmission. Probably a signal or something – a base to which the portals were directed." Rodney's face was livid, like the transmission was a personal affront.

"Is it still transmitting?" Sheppard yawned and Rodney quickly pulled up a live scan. He grumbled as he tried to isolate the signal and grimaced as he said, "Maybe. Probably. It's hard to say."

Leaning against Ronon, Sheppard sighed, "Is the mess hall still clear? Can we check it out?" He directed this more to Chuck but Rodney answered, "It's clear." Chuck seconded the agreement, clearly listening to the comms. at the same time.

"Durov?" Sheppard asked and Chucked silenced his comm with one hand and said hoarsely, "They're ok, just trapped. Teldy's run out of water balloons, so Wallstreet is sending down all he has." John nodded, weighed up the benefit going down there himself before shaking his head. "Keep me in the loop, and the moment Kalen's been checked out at medical, send his squads down there." Chuck nodded, fighting a massive yawn.

Ronon was smirking at Dean who seemed slightly affronted by something and was mouthing 'holy hand grenades' at him, to which Ronon grinned even wider. "Come on, Rodney you too, lets track down this transmission." McKay was configuring a tablet, batting at Zelenka who was trying to help. "No, no, Rodney – all frequencies…"

Ignoring the squabble, John straightened and gingerly made his way back down the stairs. Oh, what he'd give for a five minute nap, just five minutes. "Sheppard, you ok?" Ronon's voice was low, and McKay hadn't heard but Winchester's gaze was just a little too sharp. John smiled at Ronon, well aware that he was running on fumes and replied, "Probably not, but I got a few more miles in me. Come on." Ronon's look said it all, but he followed closely, probably preparing himself to catch Sheppard when he collapsed. That suited John just fine.

Winchester trailed them, groaning as he stood, and McKay brought up the rear, stumbling slightly. Dean lagged a little and soon McKay was right behind Sheppard, talking to himself as he tapped furiously on the tablet. John snuck a worried glance at McKay who was not paying attention to where he was walking, but Winchester shot him a careful nod. He was on McKay duty i.e. keep Rodney from walking into stuff. Sheppard nodded in thanks.

It was a clear walk down to Mess Hall three and John listened to the comm. chatter, all of which was busy, but not panicked. They had lost of the City but people seemed still upbeat and engaged. They were nearly at the Mess Hall when Teyla pipped him. " _John? Finally, we've found something you need to see, urgently."_

Sharing a look with Ronon, Sheppard replied, "Hang tight, Teyla. We're checking out the source of a transmission and we'll swing by you afterwards. Where are you?"

" _Is the signal coming from Mess Hall 3?"_

Teyla sounded tired and nervous, and Sheppard slowed. "How did you…"

Ignoring comm. protocol Teyla interrupted him and said, " _We should move to a secure channel, John."_

Confused, and worried, John checked that Rodney was listening and McKay was scowling, but up to date. "Go to alpha gamma five, Teyla." Ronon and McKay tuned their comms. but Winchester made no move to. He didn't have clearance for the alpha channels and strangely enough, he didn't seem too perturbed, scanning the area instead of watching them.

"Teyla?"

Teyla's summary of what she and Novak had found was brief and concise. " _I don't recognise him, John and I have never seen such a communication system in Atlantis before. If Rodney has traced the transmission to the mess hall and this man was sending a message about a large public area…"_

Sheppard was nodding, well aware she couldn't see him and when she trailed off, he said, "Yeah, it can't be a co-incidence. Teyla, stay there, and contact me immediately if anyone else comes by. As much as I don't like the idea of an enemy agent on Atlantis, we can't assume he was alone. You ok with Novak?"

" _Understood, Colonel. I'll contact you."_ Her reticence was audible, but it sounded more like she was being careful than was getting a vibe off Novak. Besides, Teyla could kick just about everyone's ass. She could handle Novak if needed. Nonetheless, the worry sent a spike of adrenalin into his system and Sheppard stepped into the Mess Hall with some vigour. Potential answers waited with Teyla. If they could find the signal and stop it….

McKay had had the same idea and darted ahead of Sheppard into the abandoned room. Had it only been a few hours ago that their evening had gone to hell in this very room? Winchester was frowning at a cut on his arm, which was still stubbornly bleeding. McKay was waving his tablet in the air, trying to triangulate the source, a deep scowl furrowing his forehead. "Anything?"

"Patience!"

Trying for patience, Sheppard watched as Rodney made his way towards a pillar which lay flush against the wall. Glaring at the pillar like it was deliberately in the way, McKay stared at it. Ronon joined him and together they stared at the area, like the sheer force of their combined will would reveal the answer. Ronon eventually grunted and stuck his hand behind the pillar, where there was a space between it and the wall. He pulled out a blue stone turtle.

"Eh?" Rodney squeaked and pointed his tablet at the turtle. Whatever he saw, it confirmed that the signal was coming from the little turtle, "It's coming from that!"

"Is there an off-switch?" John asked, slowly making his way towards them, threading a path through upturned tables and chairs. He also tried not to step in any pools of blood. Winchester trailed, clutching his arm.

Ronon was peering at the turtle which looked even smaller in his hands, while Rodney made several aborted attempts to snatch it from him. "Let… I think." With a sigh, Ronon handed it to him and McKay beamed, pushing its head. "Carson had one of these, I think."

Nothing happened and Rodney continued to press parts of the turtle. "Come on! Turn off!" He kept looking at the screen of the tablet, which stubbornly continued to show the signal transmission. Growling, McKay slammed the turtle against the wall, but still the signal continued.

"Give it here, " Ronon snapped and Rodney snarled as he tossed it back. Before Sheppard could say anything, he tossed it into the air and shot it with his blaster. "Ack! Wait! What?" Rodney gasped. Winchester startled but grinned at Ronon's pleased expression.

The remains of the turtle landed on the floor, charred pieces everywhere. "Did it work?"

"Uhm," Rodney flustered, hands shaking but he beamed, "Yes! Signal gone!"

Sheppard quickly tapped for Zelenka and snapped, "Zelenka, the signal's gone. What about the portals?"

Over the comm, Zelenka's voice sounded rough, and his sigh was heavy, " _Alas, Colonel. The portals remain and more are appearing."_

"Shit!" Sheppard shouted, kicking a nearby table.

"Maybe it takes some time for the portals to dissipate. I mean the signal has been going strong for hours," Rodney suggested, deflating a little. John shook his head, feeling every ache and pain and cursed again. "Can you and Zelenka try and block the portals? Durov had some idea about creating a giant trap, or something. Maybe if you…"

McKay opened his mouth to speak but whatever he was about to say was lost when Winchester collapsed, falling into several chairs. The noise was startling more than anything and he looked as surprised to be on the floor as they were to see him there. He wasn't completely out of it, just as white as a sheet, lips pale. There was blood seeping through the fingers of the hand clutching his arm. Ronon reached him first and hauled him up. "Get him to Carson, Ronon."

"I'm fine," Winchester mumbled, despite barely being able to stand. Ronon nodded and Sheppard turned to Rodney. "Let's go see what Teyla found. Maybe the answer to stopping the portals is there."

"Knowing our luck, no. But you're right."

Sheppard waved Ronon off as he walked Winchester away and Rodney rolled his eyes a little at the worried look Sheppard gave him. "I'm fine. For now. You however look like an extra from a chainsaw massacre movie. You are you aren't about to collapse?"

Shrugging, Sheppard stared at the remains of the turtle. What on earth was going on?

*sga*spn*sga*spn*sga*spn*sga*spn*sga*spn*sga*spn*sga*spn*sga*spn*sga*spn

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author note: I’m a little bit nervous about this chapter. I don’t usually recommend listening to specific music tracks to fics. I know writers like to share what they were listening to when they wrote fic and I usually ignore it. However, this time, I do recommend queing up the song mentioned in this chapter and listening to it as you read the last part. The reason I’m nervous is that I don’t generally like song-inserts in fic myself (even though I did it in Here Tomorrow) and now I’ve done it again. No apologies though, it fit the scene and Dean, so I went with it. Your comments and thoughts are as ever appreciated.

The second Ronon walked him into the triage area of the Infirmary, Sergeant Pete descended on them, already scanning both of them for injuries. Very familiar with the emergency medical procedures, Ronon shoved Dean towards the Sgt. and said, “He fainted. Blood-loss probably.”

Both ignored Dean's pathetic attempt to protest that he fainted, because he didn't. Pete glared at Dean, eyes narrow and sharp and hissed, “Not the first, won’t be the last. Sit there, please.” The hot triage gurney was clean and neat, and Ronon shot him an amused look, before ducking out. He had no interest in poked and prodded just yet. Dean sighed, still feeling very light-headed and wobbly but determined not to look it. Pete grunted as he quickly checked Dean out, searching for hidden injuries and indications of internal bleeding and checking his vital signs.

“We’re running low on plasma, unsurprisingly. Carson is negotiating with Wallstreet about sending down the uninjured to donate blood in between making those weird ass balloons of yours.” Pete’s voice was soft as he briskly and efficiently slapped adhesive sutures on the dozens of deep cuts on Dean’s arms and legs. “That slice will need actual sutures. Someone, probably me, will swing by just now. For now, you sit tight and don’t go anywhere.” Short, efficient and to the point. Assessed and categorised in seconds.

Pete marked his tablet and put a green dot next to Dean’s name before helping him to stand. “This way.” The Infirmary had spilled over into the surrounding rooms, what with most of Medical One still quarantined and covered in creature blood. Fortunately, there were more walking wounded than actual critical injuries, but the surgeons were nonetheless busy with the severely injured and supplies were running low. Blood-loss and fatigue were the main complaints and concern. A general feeling of gritted determination ran through the rooms, with an undercurrent of fear and anxiety. Uncertainty over the situation. Worry about friends and colleagues still fighting. Pete led Dean to a makeshift bed, next to a few heavily bandaged Marines who were sleeping. “If no one comes by in the next fifteen, holler. You need a plasma bag and sutures, got it?”

Dean nodded, and sat, grateful for the respite, despite the guilt that surged as he thought of the rest of the Marines and personnel still fighting. He’d rest for a few minutes, get some fluids replaced and then head out again, AMA if need be. He tuned his comm. to the busiest channel, Wallstreet’s, and listened to the chatter. Things were under control, barely, but the lines were holding in the safe zone and that was the main thing. The biggest issue was resources, people. Medical needed blood donors and assistance. Wallstreet needed people to check the traps, make grenades and run supplies to various places. The Majors all needed replacements and fresh faces to secure a perimeter so that there were no more surprises.

“Winchester?” Dean looked up at the young corpsman who unapologetically yawned back at him. “Yeah?”

  
“Let’s sort that arm out.”

The young man was efficient with the local and then brisk with the needle so that within a matter of minutes the cut was sutured and he had an IV attached to a plasma bag. “Just lay back and try to rest.” Dean nodded and grimaced as muscles protested and more cuts screamed as he moved. It felt really weird lying down, listening the hustle and bustle of City in his ear, the steady thrum of emotions burning through his nerves. Sleep was going to be impossible. He barely noted the young man's departure.

The last thing Dean heard was Wallstreet’s New York accent as he berated some poor soul named Greenberg about screwing up the blessing on the holy water. Again.

*sga*spn*sga*spn*sga*spn*sga*spn*sga*spn*sga*spn*sga*spn*sga*spn*sga*spn

The smell of blood, rotting creature and death in the room was getting overwhelming and Teyla was contemplating leaving the room for a moment of fresh air when John and Rodney arrived.

“Oh, gah! What the hell?” Rodney blanched and nearly gagged, backing out of the immediate area quickly. He slapped a hand over his face, eyes bugging out. Sheppard looked a bit wane himself and gulped a bit. “You ok?” he asked, scanning his friend. Teyla nodded, a small smile on her lips. “I am well, thank you. You, however, look awful.”

“Thanks.” Sheppard smiled and then nodded at Novak, who saluted sharply. “Colonel, sir.”

“What have you found?” John sounded flat, but there was an edge of nervous energy about him. Teyla led him towards the small computer with the exchange of messages. “Mostly this. I don’t recognise the system.”

Rodney, his face a picture of nausea called from the other side of the room, “Can you bring it over here?” He was desperately trying to reign in his gag reflex and still be useful. He was hunched over his knees, taking shallow breathes. Sheppard held up a hand and said, “Probably not. It’s connected to some serious looking encryption equipment. I can recognise that much.”

“Shit,” McKay growled and bustled over, cheeks puffed up as he tried not to breath in the blood-thick air. He shoved Sheppard to one side, officiously sidestepped Novak and began tapping away at the little console. Giving him room, Teyla and Sheppard stepped back and John said, “You found zat’nik’tels?”

Teyla nodded and showed him the crate in question. “We also opened a few more and they contain mostly computer equipment and various pieces of technology. The parts are not familiar to me, and I don’t know why a scientist would need them…” John picked up a few of the random pieces of tech in the crates and studied them. Some looked earth made, others looked alien. It was a mismatch of random tech, with nothing really seeming to match or fit together. “Weird.”

“Indeed, it is most curious, but hardly helpful.” Teyla sighed, fighting a yawn herself and continued, “How are things in the rest of City, John? Are we making progress?”

John shrugged, blinking his eyes, and winced as the motion pulled a cut. “Honestly, I have no idea. Things seem to be under control but like any combat situation, it can change in an instant.” He leant against one of the crates, and Teyla sat on one opposite to him. “We just need to create a secure barrier so we can rest, regroup and try kick the things out. Hopefully Wallstreet is on that. Teldy reached Durov and they are mopping up together. Lorne is still making his way in and Kalen’s supporting Wallstreet.”

Nodding, Teyla yawned, her smile sad. “Good. We all need rest and time to plan.”

“Sir?” Private Novak’s voice was stiff and formal, but there was a note of interest. Looking up, Sheppard quirked an eyebrow at the Marine and then frowned when he saw what he was holding up. “Is that a…?”

There was an open crate in front of the man, and Novak held out a gold bar, the metal surface dull and scratched but was of more interest was the swastika symbol embedded in the surface. “Nazi gold?” Rodney squeaked, looking up from the console, his mouth open. Novak handed the Colonel the bar and John stared at the thing. It looked old, real beat up and worn. The swastika though was very clear and unmistakable. What were the odds of that symbol randomly occurring on an alien world? Slim.

“What’s a Nazi?” Teyla asked. Still seated, Sheppard grunted, “Long story, bad guys from Earth. Lost a war long ago. This is bizarre and worrying – for a whole lot of reasons.”  Rodney suddenly next to them and peering into the crate, muttered loudly, his face lost in a glow of shiny gold. “It’s like a frigging Indiana Jones movie. Mysterious messages to unknown evil forces, Nazi gold and monsters from another dimension.” He hauled out another couple of bars and beamed, “We don’t need to tell the SGC about this, do we?”

Novak’s face said it all, his expression one of real discomfort of potential rule-breaking. "How about you get back to checking that console out and find out who our dead spy was talking to?" John smiled at Rodney's expressive huff.

"Why don't you have a look at that fancy screen thing he had, Colonel? Do something more useful than warm that crate," Rodney barked, but he obediently returned to the console, shooting the gold bars a covert glance. Sheppard didn't move. The screen thing could wait for later – how it worked and where it had come from was low on his list of things to give a shit about. Teyla was still confused about the consternation the gold created and she asked, "Why are these Nazi's, or their gold, concerning?"

Before Sheppard could answer, Private Novak said smoothly, "Miss Emmagen, it is more their rarity than their source that is concerning, I assume." He looked at Sheppard, who nodded.

"Yeah, there have been rumours about lost Nazi gold for years. The fact that at least a crate has found its way to Atlantis is staggering. How does a rare earth artefact end up on a secret base in another galaxy?" Sheppard turned the bar in his hand, so that its surface shone. "I hope to hell that we're not dealing with alien Nazi's or shit like that."

The dismissive noise from Rodney was loud and he laughed, "Ha! Not likely, Sheppard. More like the Trust have been digging around Earth again and have been more successful than the SGC or NID realised. Squirrelling away all sorts of shit – treasure and stuff."

"The Trust?" Sheppard asked, handing Novak the bar.

Rodney nodded, "Yep. I recognise this mix of tech. It's a hybrid of earth proto-type crap and go'auld, with random nonsense in-between. Keeping this stuff running must be a nightmare." Sheppard rolled his eyes and tried to share a knowing look with Novak, who stared back at him blankly. Caught a little off guard, John caught Teyla's smile and shrugged. "What does it do?"

Obscured by the console, the top of his head barely visible, Rodney's voice was muffled as he grumbled, "Most of it is designed to hide the sub-space signal from us. There's a pretty cool transmitter back here, and then loads of components to mask the signal, make it look like one of ours, or just background noise, as it were." Rodney stood up, his hair awry, eyes wide, an expression of irritated excitement on his face. He sat down at the console, careful to keep out of the dried pools of blood and started typing furiously on the keyboard.

"I doubt that they would be stupid enough to conveniently keep their evils plans in a folder called 'Evil Plans' but let's see what's on here."  

Teyla and John nodded, while Private Novak maintained his carefully blank expression. Or that was his normal expression, one of mild but patient confusion. Sheppard wasn't too sure. He listened in on the comm., flipping through a couple of channels to hear how the various teams were doing. Nothing overly dramatic had happened it seemed, aside from Lorne and his platoons reporting on more portals on the West Pier.

"Rodney?"

McKay grunted, and replied, "Nothing really. Mostly talk about testing something out. The gold they were going to melt for some go'auld tech it seems, but the rest is in bits and pieces."

John sighed, "We don't need to know everything about what the Trust is doing. We can sort through that later. We need to know how to stop these things."

McKay whirled on the chair, still typing, but eyes firmly glaring at Sheppard. "I think if the idiot-spy here knew how to stop these flying monsters, he would have. Before they ripped him apart!"

"Or he did, and was unable to do so, before being overwhelmed?" Novak's tone was thoughtful, and tentative. To his credit, he wasn't fazed by the mega-glare sent his way by McKay.

"Leave the thinking up to those with degrees, kay! You hold the gun and shoot the gun."

"McKay." John knew he sounded tired and frustrated, but exhausted, cranky McKay was a little more than he wanted to deal with right now. Sitting down had been a bad idea. The mere idea of standing was enough to make John cry. Actual tears. His day had started with a black run with Ronon. Hell, that alone usually guaranteed an early night. Dawn was barely an hour away and there was no real solution in sight – just more hiding behind Satanic symbols and salt.

The touch of a gentle hand on his shoulder startled him and Sheppard looked up at Novak, who nodded calmly before saying, "I'm sure the answer will come." Trying not to look too confused, lest he offend Novak, Sheppard nodded back. McKay though was still in full swing, and John tuned into the ongoing ramble, which hadn’t really stopped.

"I mean it's fairly obvious after Catastrophe that the Trust are well and truly here, but I didn’t think that they’d be so firmly embedded into Atlantis. Our dead spy is Dr Edwards and he’d been here a year already. Xeno-archaeology. Actually wrote a few papers and did real work in-between all the spying stuff. I think… I think… yep, they have a base, but…. nothing about it’s location.”

Grimacing as he wiped his face and dried blood flaked off, Sheppard sighed, “Assuming they turned some alien tech on, if they were testing something, that tech is what is creating the portals?”

Rodney nodded, still typing and scrolling through various screens, “Yep, talk here about planning the test, and Edwards acknowledging receipt of the turtle. I don’t think though they were expecting the portals and stream of screaming monsters though.”

“Ya think, Rodney?”

McKay didn’t bother to reply, instead he hmmed to himself and then squeaked in excitement, “They thought it was a mind-control device! Ha! Morons. Probably got the translation wrong!”

“That’s disturbing,” Sheppard mused, and both Teyla and Novak nodded.

“Agreed, but why would the Trust be interested in mind-control?” Teyla asked. Novak looked equally interested in the answer, his curiosity getting the better of his expressionless face. Before John could answer, McKay laughed nastily, “Oh, who knows. After Baal’s death you would have thought that the Trust would have disappeared, but nope, here they are. Still sneaking around with Evil Plans.”

Narrowing his eyes, John nodded, and added, “We don’t know who is running the Trust now, but the fact that they had Winchester and were here in Pegasus means they must have larger scheme or goal. Maybe Rodney can find something useful…”

“Hey!”

“Needless to say, it is imperative that you discover their true motives,” Novak said, with some finality. Sheppard gave Novak a cool look but said, “Ya think?.”

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The tension in the Gateroom was bearable now, but after hours of constant stress and worry battering at her mental shields, Charlie had a rather large headache. Hiding under her workstation had helped, as often being out of sight seemed to work, like not being able to see the source of the emotion made it less real. Chuck was helping Wallstreet and Mikilai was co-ordinating with Durov and Teldy. That left her Major Lorne who was sweeping through the City, heading west, making sure that there were no stragglers. Most of his Marines had already come in for medical checks and rest. Lt Kalen was securing the Tower, making 100% certain that all traps and salt lines were holding.

If Charlie was honest though, most of her headache though was from the civilians. Everyone was busy with something, either with a Marine squad, making holy hand grenades or assisting in medical, but that didn’t stop a steady stream of requests for information and progress. Chuck pulled rank and just sent all of the queries to her. It wasn’t like there was a general update she could just send out on the civilian channels – it was all more of the same – we have no idea when it’ll stop, the military are working on it.

If Dr Freeman and his cabal called her one more time….

“ _Charlie, evacuation of Xeno-bio is complete. We’re starting on Xeno-Zoo now. Dr Hoshi’s got most of the critters out, but they lost all of lab 2 and most of lab 3.”_ Charlie noted it on her tablet, marking the contents of Lab 2 in the casualty column.

“Roger that, Lt.Kim. You and Jones managing?”

“ _Wouldn’t say no to another squad. And breakfast. Jones says definitely breakfast.”_

Pulling up the kitchen rosters, Charlie yawned and replied, “I’ll see what I can do about another squad. Breakfast though.... let me see what I can do. Central out.”

Lt Kim signed out and Charlie stared at the rosters. Chuck had missed his surf report this morning, but the rosters were still valid for the week. The likelihood of normal gate travel occurring today was highly unlikely, and Charlie quickly worked through the scheduled gates for the day, marking those that were critical. KP and Mess hall duty was next, and with Mess Hall 3 still a blood covered battle field, Maguire and his team would have to…

Keying her comm, and locating Maguire, Charlie pipped him, “Hey, Sgt. You on top of feeding the starving hordes?”

Maguire sounded like he was battling monsters, which was a real possibility, but he replied calmly, _“I’ve commandeered Mess Hall Two. Wallstreet pulled Harker and Tucker. I’ve lost most of my team to Wallstreet, but we should have something ready for the hordes. Damon, that’s burning!”_

Charlie updated her tablet and said, “Hang tight, I’m updating the morning info burst. You ok with a …” she looked up to check the chronometer on the Gateroom wall. Little less than an hour to dawn and it looked like folk would be camping out in the safe zones to catch some sleep. “Kay, shoot, what are you prepping?”

Maguire took a second to answer, the background hubbub of the kitchen in Mess Hall 2 rising. _“Cold breakfast. Sandwiches, fruit, no… leave that, its no good, but we’ll set up coffee and almost-coffee in the safe zones. Hell, we’ll run out some packed meals to the squads as well. Civs can troop down to us once Wallstreet lets them go.”_

Charlie nodded and belatedly replied, “Fabulous. Updating and sending. Woolsey just sent through the revised roster for today, and yep, as expected, all gate travel is cancelled. Central out.”

Overhead, thunder crashed and a gust of rain beat at the windows. While day long rainstorms were fairly normal on Lantea during the summer, or so Charlie had read, 24 hours of straight thunderstorm was unusual. In all likelihood, it wasn’t a thunderstorm but was a Lantean version of a hurricane, and it sure as hell added to the mood of the City.

Idly, Charlie checked the various City systems, wilfully ignoring the insistent pips from Dr Freeman, or whoever it was in zone 2, probably Freeman. It looked like the City was riding out the storm just fine, despite the monsters appearing all over the place. That at least was good news.

Rolling her eyes, and not bothering to hide her irritation, Charlie answered the pips, “Central, Charlie.”

_“I did not sign onto the Atlantis programme so that I could fill water balloons. My fingers are numb! I demand to speak to Director Woolsey.”_ Charlie grinned, “Please put your complaint in writing, Dr Cooper. Or add it to the forum, “I didn’t sign up for this” on the secure chat service. It’ll be attended to in due course. Central out.”

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 Dean went from a state of deep exhausted sleep to wide awake in a heartbeat. Hell, his heart was pounding like mad and it felt like something heavy was pressing down on his body. Hyper alert, Dean looked around, half-certain that he’d see the infirmary under attack or something.

Across the room, Carson was talking to very groggy looking Marine, while checking his vital signs. Pete was bustling around, his pace no more hurried or anxious than usual. Lying in the bed next to him, Corporal May slept on oblivious, while two beds over Sanchez snored. Concerned that he’d failed to note that his friend was two beds over, Dean sat up, careful of the IV. He ached, and all sorts of cuts and scrapes protested the movement but nothing seemed terribly wrong with him either. In fact, Dean felt a hundred times better after a brief sleep, and the plasma no doubt.

_Reaching out_ just a little to take in the mood of the room and the wider City, Dean felt a stream of _calm-worry-determined-we-got-this_ from most people. The general feeling didn’t change any further out, and in fact, his senses hit a brick wall of sheer glee from a squad of Marines who were laughing about something. Everything seemed fine. So what had woken him up?

Someone had taken his comm. off, so he picked it up and placed it in his ear. The military channels sounded fine, and there was a steady stream of complaints on the civilian channels. Dean couldn’t pick up Sheppard anywhere, but Woolsey was on beta-four, co-ordinating schedules with various staff sergeants and Wallstreet.

Still ill at ease, Dean swung his legs over the bed, ready to leave. Pete shot him a ‘don’t’ you dare!’ look and Dean paused, a guilty smile on his face. Carson was also looking at him, more with concern than ire, so Dean stayed seated on the bed. Without really thinking about it, he let his empathic senses flood out, seeking for the disturbance. He didn’t usually do this, and it was probably an indication of just how tired he was, that he did so. Normally, Dean kept his empathic senses carefully controlled. Two years of being unable to stop so much as a random spike of anger from giving him a headache, let along his own emotions leaking all over the place, had ensured that now he kept his abilities under careful reign. It had been years since he’d done this, just let the barriers go. Actively seek out something.

Sam had often asked him to do this. Get a feel for a haunt. Pick up the ambient emotions of a ghost or creature they were hunting.

It felt liberating.

The swirling, chaotic emotions of the people in Atlantis rushed at him, and with his barriers firmly in place, it was like water lapping at his feet, rather than a wave drowning him. Charlie, a bright spark of empathic pulse, was in the Gateroom, her exhausted enthusiasm muted. Teldy, also peaked with exhaustion, was eating – happy contentment and weariness- and she was talking to gruff, excited and anxious Durov. Teyla and Sheppard were nearly subsumed by McKay’s rioting emotions of anger, excitement, exhaustion and fear. But they were amused about something, although Sheppard was a black hole of tiredness. There was a weird pocket of blankness near Sheppard, but Dean didn’t focus on it for long. Kim and Jones were arguing about something, their emotions rife with feelings of camaraderie and irritation. Ronon was dogging Lorne’s heels, his grim enjoyment at shooting things a stark counterpoint to Lorne’s need to just lie down.

Everything seemed fine. Or as fine as it could be. Mixed in with the steady stream of emotions from the mix of humanity in Atlantis, there was a sharp, angry, roaring hunger from the monsters. Emotions from non-humans felt or _tasted_ different to Dean. Usually, emotions came as sharp, intense sensations, colouring his mind with the depth of their range and complexity. Monsters though were far less vivid or intense. Ghosts leaked a single, solitary emotion usually, caught in the loop of whatever was keeping them around. Usually ghosts felt like quiet sadness and grief. Demons reeked of anger and hatred but it was muted, like it was something they barely thought about, more consumed with hurting others. The average monster was a mix of muted needy hunger. Vampires turned the volume up on hunger, so much that it drowned out anything else.

The creepy-as-hell, flying blue freaks swarming the City projected the usual mix of monster emotions. Needy hunger, muted anger, hatred. The need, the desire to rip and kill. Anger at the salt. Fury at the holy water. Fear of the traps.

Even with the hundreds, probably thousands of them in the City, their emotions were still dull compared to the intense human ones. Sam had wondered if it had something to do with monsters not having souls…

A piercing lance of fear shattered his thoughts. Dean caught the spike of sheer terror from Lorne and Ronon before the secondary, violent wave of vile hatred crashed into his field, bowling him over figuratively.

There was nothing muted about that hatred. It was sharp, clear and Dean felt bile rise in his stomach, his heart pounding. Something big had arrived and it hated him. Hated everything. The City, the people, the light. It’s hatred felt so real and so close, Dean was standing and running before he thought about it.

Stunned silence fell over the infirmary, and someone screamed. Dean wasn’t the only one feeling this. Pete was on the floor, clutching his head, screaming. Carson had staggered against the bed, his face white, hands tight on the sheets. Across the City, the human inhabitants’ emotions went from a steady, calm mix to sheer, blind fear.

Raw hatred battered at his barriers, and Dean poured hard-won determination into his mental-shields as he ran. He left the Infirmary, feet beating a frantic rhythm on the floor, arms pumping as he ran. He passed Marines on the floor, holding their heads, people staggering and crying as the powerful torrent of hatred, fear and venom overwhelmed him. Dean only had a vague idea where he was going. Lorne and Ronon had felt the attack first and Dean sped towards where he’d felt them last. He couldn’t feel anything from them at the moment. The comm. was quiet. No one was calling for help, but their unvoiced screams joined in the storm of emotions battering at Dean.

Adrenalin surged through him, feed by panic and fear, and Dean flew down several flights of stairs, before leaping into a transporter and hitting the symbol for the West Pier without much thought. He was running the second he appeared and ran through the open doors onto the pier. Lorne’s crumpled body was the first thing he saw, Ronon lying prone next to him. The squad of Marines were a few feet away, only one of them still writhing, holding his head and silently screaming, his open mouth a rictus of pain.

The violent emotion attack was even stronger on the pier and Dean looked across the wide metal surface and felt fear curl in his stomach as his eyes tracked the source. A massive portal was opening in the air above the far end of the pier. A trickle of tiny creatures were emerging, their cries lost over the noise of the waves and ocean. It was only trickle because a freaking huge head was emerging through the growing portal. It didn’t look exactly like the smaller monsters who were all mouth and teeth, claws and wings. This thing didn’t seem to have a mouth, or even eyes. The smooth, round head was mottled with the same blue-grey skin, and there was a pattern, lines darting over the skin. As Dean stared, frozen in place, more of the head emerged, and long, thin tentacles dropped from holes near where its jaw would be. A massive neck cleared the portal and around the oval head, more tentacles appeared.

The battery of hatred increased, and the tentacles struck the pier, and shit, they were not small or thin. They were massive, thick and muscled. One of the tentacles was reaching for Ronon and Dean darted forward, crying out, fear and anger rising in him. The pier was large – it was big enough to hold the Daedalus when they felt the need to actually land, and the tentacles were just able to reach the Marines collapsed near the door. Furious, Dean _pulled_ at the ambient electricity from the real storm-clouds overhead. Desperate to stop the monster and protect the Marines and Ronon, he shot an arc of electricity at the tentacles, screaming at the top of his lungs.

His offensive hit the tentacles and the huge monster screamed – despite having no mouth with which to do so. Taking advantage of the space the withdrawing tentacles gave him, Dean ran ahead, and stopped a few feet in front of Lorne. Yelling again, he shot more electricity at the portal and giant head. More tentacles appeared and stabbed at him. Most he caught with the long arcs of power he was tossing around, and the few that got through, he shocked the second they were close enough. Luckily it had stopped raining, but the storm clouds overhead were still heavy with energy and electricity. _Pulling_ more, Dean tossed bolts of power at the portal, and while they all hit, the monster did not retreat, nor did the portal close.

Snaking more tentacles at him, the beast increased the wave of hatred, trying to pierce both his mental and physical defences. Dean staggered at the attack, felt his knees buckle, one foot slipping. Furious, he _pulled_ and _pulled_ and rather than take the electricity into himself and then out, he sent lightning straight at the creature’s head. It wailed as the lightning struck and visibly winced, black scorch marks appearing on its skin. Rather than back off though, it moved forward and an enormous leg stepped through the portal, and as its clawed foot struck the pier, Dean felt the thud. “Shit!”

The monster screamed at him, mouthless and furious, and Dean stumbled, the sheer force of hatred staggering. Crying out, he held up his hands and projected a barrier of energy and emotion. Under the barrage of hatred and anger, he dropped to his knees, heart beating like it was about to burst. He was drenched in sweat and his arms were shaking as he tried to hold the barrier, picturing it in his mind, a mental shield. He siphoned power from the storm, but couldn’t summon anything more to fight back. Another monstrous leg emerged from the portal, the shudder of its weight rattling Dean’s bones.

The monster screamed, triumph and victory colouring the vile emotions battering at him. waves of anger, hatred and whatever psychic ability this thing had crashed against his flimsy shield, and it felt like he was trying to stop the wind. Dean swallowed, his eyes fixed on Ronon. His friend was unmoving, ears bleeding, hand outstretched towards his gun. Dean couldn’t see his face, but the wind was blowing his dredds, his white shirt mottled with blood. He couldn’t fail. He was the only thing between this monster and the City. The only one able to help.

Dean tried to dig deep, tried to suck more power from the storm, tried to stand. His legs were shaking under the weight of the attack on the barrier. How could emotions weigh anything? Feeling massively out of his depth, Dean tried to find a centre of calm, a source of emotional strength, but each time he held onto a piece of centre, it scattered, lost under the barrage of hate. His own fear was weakening him. He had to stop this thing, otherwise his friends, his new home was lost. Who knew what the psychic attack was doing to them?

More creatures were flyng overhead, their muted hatred joining in with the Big Boss monster and shit, but Dean had no extra lives, no reset, no saved game. This was it. He had to win, right now!

He closed his eyes, feeling the barrier weaken, and gritted his teeth. There had to be something…

“Hey, hang on. Don’t let go.”

Soft, warm hands touched his shoulders. A gentle voice filled with fear and determination whispered in his ear. “Don’t let go.”

Dean opened his eyes and Charlie beamed back at him, her face pale, eyes wide, but her smile was genuine. He looked at the barrier overhead, barely visible but sparking with power and energy, shuddering under the strain of the invisible wave of hatred. “I can’t hold it much longer.”

Charlie squeezed his shoulders, her shuddering frame pressed against his back and shoulders. “Well, whatever you are doing, it helped me get here. I was barely able to think, breath with all that alien anger pounding at me, and then… it stopped. Er, weakened, so I came running.”

Taking a deep, shaky breath, Dean hissed, “Great, so two of us can watch me fail. I can’t… shit…” Dean felt the barrier crack, a snap of something in his mind and the monster shrieked at him, yet another leg appearing. Three legs! It wasn’t in too much of a hurry to walk over here and stomp on him, but then with a psychic attack, who needed brute force. Charlie winced with him and he felt her empathic ability brush against his mind.

“Can I help?”

“Hell if I know. Try.”

Charlie’s mental touch was hesitant. Careful. His entire life Dean had only ever felt the mental touch of a Kinetic and even Sam’s had been a hard, demanding link. He’d never really had the chance to interact with another empath and given the need for most empaths to hide their ability, Dean had never expected to. Charlie’s mind, her empathic field felt warm, soothing as it touched his. Not demanding, no pull. Just a steady heartbeat of similar power, with a distinct taste that was all Charlie, a bright, funny woman with a knockout smile.

“Who the hell is Fluttershy?” he asked and Charlie blushed. “Shut up. Is it working?”

Was it? Dean took in a deep breath and _stretched_ his mental muscles, and the barrier hardened, grew. He felt less tired, more buoyed by hope. Glad that he wasn’t alone anymore. Charlie’s smile was so wide, her excitement infectious. “I’ve never done this before. Wow.” It was a rush, being connected like this, Charlie’s steady emotions buffering his, mentally holding hands and standing firm under the assault.

The Big Boss screamed at them and Dean climbed to his feet, hauling Charlie with him. “You keep feeding the barrier. I’m going to try throw some more lightning at it.”

“Er? Wait, what?” Charlie stammered and Dean squeezed her hand. When had they started holding hands? She squeezed back, fear and worry visible on her face and very clear in her aura. “I don’t … seriously, I have no idea how you are doing this.”

Breathing deep again, and trying to reach the calm state Teyla was teaching him to reach during their sessions, Dean smiled at her. “I have no idea either. I just do it.”

“Oh great, instinct magic. Erm… so what, think happy thoughts?” Her voice was soft and he barely heard her over the ocean and waves, and the creatures screaming. The wind was tossing her hair, dark red tangles brushing her face, eyes wide and scared.

Dean shrugged and projected as much confidence at her as possible. “Whatever works. I’m not going to drop it, but Fugly over there isn’t going to patiently wait for us to figure this out, so…”  Sure enough, Fugly was moving forward, more of it appearing through the portal, and shit, it was huge. It dwarfed some of the smaller buildings nearby and while its attack of hate had lessened with their shielf, it was still battering the rest of the population in the City. Hell, it was dragging itself out of hell, and screaming with triumph.

Something hard and flint-like flickered in her eyes and Charlie held his gaze. “Kay, let’s do this,” she said firmly and dropped his hand and glared at the monster. His hand felt cold and empty and for a second the barrier faltered. Dean _pulled_ more electricity and directed a stream of lightning at the monster. Charlie squeaked and the wave of hatred intensified as she struggled to hold the barrier. Fortunately the lightning storm hit the monster and it screamed in real pain this time, smoke rising from its skin. It staggered a little, legs wobbling, and the intensity of the emotional attack faded.

Dean grabbed Charlie’s hand again and said, “Don’t let go. We can do this.” Wanly, she nodded, her freckles stark on her pale face. Very shaken, her empathic field was wobbly and Dean poured more energy into the barrier. “I don’t think happy thoughts are enough, Dean.”

“Of course not, Granger.” She smiled at the name and Dean continued, “Emotions focus us. They are part of our power, but not the source. Think positive and focus on strengthening the barrier. Imagine you are pouring power into it, or something. It’s not the thoughts themselves – it’s you, your ability that matters.”

She looked sceptical but nodded. “Kay.”

This time when Fugly recovered and hammered at their paltry little shield, Charlie held. She shrieked a little with excitement and the barrier grew. Rather than risk electrocuting her, Dean focused on pulling lighting from the clouds and hammering the portal and the beast directly. It was hard work, the clouds were not as heavy with electricity and potential any more. Charlie was sweating, her eyes fixed on the monster, but their barrier was growing, strengthening. She was a natural, once she found her confidence. Instead of sparking with electricity, the shield took on a gold hue, energy rippling over it. Together, they stepped forward, and Dean sent more lightning at the monster. He caught several swarms of the littler creatures as well, and rocked Fugly back. The beast roared and its legs trembled but it stayed put.

For several long minutes, that was all they did. Charlie grimly focusing on the barrier, pouring all of her determination and power into it, while Dean hammered the massive beast, sending millions of volts of electricity at it. Over and over again, the lightning hit, filling the air with the smell of ozone and burnt flesh. Fugly screamed, and writhed, lashing out with tentacles and hatred. The tentacles bounced off the barrier, and the pair had a scary moment when a tentacle slipped past and nearly grabbed a Marine before Dean shocked it.

Bolt after bolt, Dean waited for the monster to crack, to give up. Charlie was shaking under the pressure, her palm slick under his. After a particularly vicious salvo, Dean paused, chest heaving from the exertion, sweat dripping into his eyes. Surely that had done it. Charlie was sagging against him, her hair wet with sweat. The monster was briefly obscured by smoke from the strikes and burning flesh, but a stiff ocean breeze, that sent goose-bumps over their skin, also cleared the smoke. Despair stabbed at Dean’s heart. In the clearing smoke, Fugly was still standing, still pushing through the portal. More tentacles were appearing and all they had managed to do was get it to take one step back, as only two legs were visible. Severed tentacles dotted the pier, but the rest of it was still very much ‘there’ – and it was seriously pissed off.

A thin rip appeared on its skin and slowly a mouth opened. There were no teeth, just a dense black, empty hole. When it screamed, Dean and Charlie screamed too, in pain. The torrent of psychic hatred was thick and vicious, and memories of seeing his Dad with yellow eyes cluttered his mind. Under the onslaught their shield nearly broke, shrinking and thinning to something almost not there and Dean staggered under the force of the sheer, vicious, ancient hatred. So much anger, so much gritted determination to end them, to destroy them. Charlie was crying, tears streaking her face and unexpectedly she shouted, “Expecto Patronum!”

Unbelievable, the shield held, gold and bright. “What?” Dean gasped, chasing away the memories of invisible claws shredding his chest.

“Shut up. Hit it again!” Charlie was furious. And scared. Very very scared. But she gripped his hand tightly. “Hit it again!” Her shout was loud, and accompanied by an angry fist pointed at the beast.

As if summoned by her anger alone, a solitary holy hand-grenade arced through the air, the most un-aerodynamic flying glove ever seen and splatted against Fugly. Just like the smaller creatures, Fugly screamed as the holy water burnt it. “Ready salvo two!”

Dean and Charlie turned around, as one. Behind them, Colonel Sheppard was standing next to several lines of Marines and other military personnel, each armed with make-shift catapults and launchers, the front rows kneeling, the rear rows standing. They had the doors covered, and were ready to fire. “Row one, fire! Row two!”

Behind them, a steady line of people were stacking balloons, while more people arrived, armed with P-90s and stunners. Wave after wave of grenades flew into the air, landing with scary accuracy, and Fugly shrieked. Tentacles darted to reach the soldiers and together Charlie and Dean strengthened the barrier, widened it and stretched it higher and Dean channelled more electricity into it. Combat medics were pulling the unconscious Marines and Lorne to safety. Ronon though was awake, and shaking off any help.

After so much silence, Dean startled as his comm. pipped and Sheppard said, _“You heard the lady. Hit it again, Winchester.”_ Dean nodded and _reached_ upwards. There wasn’t much electricity left but he pulled for all he was worth, and shouted as he sent strike after strike of electricity at the big monster. In between his strikes, Sheppard sent a volley of grenades and then P-90 fire. Under such concerted fire, Fugly shrieked and wailed, its legs shaking. It opened its mouth again and Charlie nearly collapsed as the powerful scream hit the barrier. Dean struggled to help her, caught mid-lighting strike and for a moment the barrier faltered. Vaguely, through his own pain, Dean heard the soldiers cry out as the psychic wave hit them, but Charlie recovered and the intensity disappeared. “Sorry, sorry.”

Ronon was standing close, his fists clenched, radiating frustration. “This isn’t working,” he growled. Dean nodded, and sent another bolt of electricity at Fugly. The stupid, ridiculously hard to kill thing wailed but remained stubbornly halfway through the portal. “We have to close the portal!” Dean shouted, speaking to both Ronon and Sheppard.

The portal was massive and would take a huge devil’s trap to close. Ronon bit out, “You get me close enough, I’ll do it.” He held up a can of spray paint and his blaster, a devil-may-care grin on his face. Sheppard piped in, “ _Can you move the whatever-the-hell force-field you’ve got? Can you get closer?”_

Charlie shot him a look of pure panic and Dean shared the feeling. Looking at Ronon and then Sheppard over his shoulder, he said, “The shield is pretty much the only reason you guys are up and about. Charlie can’t hold it on her own and I don’t think we should go any closer. We’re barely holding it as it is.”

_“Shit,”_ Sheppard barked, but he waved another volley of grenades, keeping up the barrage. _“Any ideas?”_

Dean was drawing a blank. He was the best person to get Ronon closer but was it worth the risk of leaving Charlie. If the barrier fell, would he be able to keep Ronon on his feet long enough to draw a devil’s trap? The best option was keeping the thing distracted with grenades and lightning, so Ronon didn’t have to dodge tentacles and feet. “Uh…”

There was a commotion on the other side of the artillery lines and Maguire shoved his way through the collected soldiers. Hot on his heels was Boyd, a heavy sergeant who worked for Wallstreet. Ignoring Sheppard, they ran towards Charlie and Dean. Maguire’s face was red, matching his hair, and he breathed out, “We can help.” Boyd nodded, his dark eyes uncertain and for a long moment Dean had no idea what they were talking about.

It was only when Charlie took Maguire’s hand and Dean _felt_ the tall Marine’s empathic ability that he put two and two together. “Seriously?” Maguire grinned at him wryly and shrugged. Boyd grasped Maguire’s hand cautiously and his steady, organised presence joined Maguire and Charlie’s. Neither of them were particularly strong empaths, or otherwise Dean would have noticed before now. But their combined confidence bolstered Charlie and she said, “You go. Get Ronon closer and kick its ass.”

“Colonel, keep the volleys going. We’re figuring this out.”

Even over the distance, Dean could feel Sheppard’s surprise and confusion, but he nodded and more volleys of grenades arced overhead. Dean reluctantly dropped Charlie’s hand and it felt weird. He didn’t leave barrier though. “You guys try hold it.” Speaking to Maguire and Boyd, he said, “Follow Charlie’s lead. Just support her, I think. Imagine the barrier holding.” They both looked unsure and over the comm. Sheppard barked, “ _Hurry it up. We don’t have an endless supply of balloons you know!”_

Reluctantly, Dean withdrew from the barrier and _watched_ as Maguire and Boyd bolstered Charlie. The barrier looked less sparky and seemed to solidify, a silvery sheen joining Charlie’s gold. The other two empaths smiled and as Dean was about to speak, Fugly struck. Perhaps sensing a change in the shield, it opened its mouth and screamed. Boyd fell to his knees, hands in his hair, and Maguire stumbled. Dean caught his arm and steadied the barrier. Charlie gulped, sweating and said, “Its fine, we’re fine. Go.”

“You’re not fine. Damnit…” Dean cursed, torn. Sheppard was glaring at him, urging him to move. Ronon was fidgeting, anxious to get moving, but Maguire and Boyd just weren’t strong enough. Over the roars of the monster and the screams of the little ones, a tentacle slammed into the barrier and all four Empaths grimaced. A distant voice cried out, “Hang on, I’m coming. We’re coming.”

A short, bespectacled man shoved through the Marines, followed by several other scientists. Two were from Xeno-biology and one was dressed in gate-team fatigues. Dean recognised them all but had no idea who they were. When the little Asian man grabbed Boyd’s hand, his small empathic ability flooded the connection. The others, all projecting fear and nervousness joined in, their expressions resolute. Charlie was beaming like mad and she gasped, “Trevor, I had no idea!” Trevor, the gate-team guy just shrugged. Dean though wasn’t convinced that even four more weak Empaths would help. Charlie though was feeling really positive. “We’ll be fine, Dean. Go.”

The steady pulse of emotion from the Marines steadily firing at Fugly brushed his mind. Behind them he felt Wallstreet urging his by now exhausted teams of grenade makers on. Sheppard and Teyla were talking, the Athosian standing next to her friend. Teldy and Durov were in the artillery ranks, and for a moment, Dean _felt_ Teldy’s affection for him. In fact, the whole pier was rife with feelings of family, affection and utter determination to protect. No one was giving up, even in the face of a giant, faceless monster crawling out of a hell dimension.

“I have an idea,” he said. Charlie beamed and Ronon grunted. Tapping his comm. Dean quickly spoke, “Colonel, I need the comm. All channels. I have an idea and I need everyone.”

“ _Winchester, do it. Whatever it is, do it. Just hurry the hell up.”_

Feeling a rise of nerves and instantly doubting himself, Dean exhaled and piped Chuck. “Chuck, dude. I need you to broadcast to everyone. All at the same time. All channels.”

There was a few seconds delay, and Chuck replied, “ _Er, give me a moment.”_

Dean motioned for the Empaths to come closer and the small group gathered around him. Licking his lips, he ignored the shrieks from Fulgy across the pier and said, “I know none of you are trained or have really used your abilities.” Everyone nodded, bar Charlie who just smirked. “So, here’s lesson one. You can siphon emotion, as in you can draw out the anger from a crowd. Make them less angry.”

Maguire gave him a quizzical look but the others nodded. His mouth dry, heart pounding, Dean continued, “Lesson two. You can pump up emotion. You can push a crowd from mildly angry to furious.” The nods were less enthusiastic and Charlie looked sick, but then there was a tentacle battering at the shield, so maybe that was it. Idly he shocked the thing and Ronon hissed, “Winchester.”

Ignoring him, Dean stared at each of the collected empaths, wishing he had more time for this. They were all leaking emotion into the connection, an untrained, worrying river of anxiety and enthusiasm. “Charlie and I are barely holding this barrier and no offense, you guys are awesome for wanting to help, but you won’t hold for long. But!” Dean was quick to add the ‘but’ as Charlie glared at him. “But, if we can get the city behind us, the people of the City feeling good, happy, you can siphon off their emotions and then pump them up even more. Using that hyper emotion, you’ll be strong enough to keep the barrier up.”

“Say what now?” Trevor gasped, but Dean waved him off, sending reassurance through the shield. Charlie started to say, “I thought you said our power didn’t come from emotion…”

Dean shook his head, struggling to find the words for something that came so naturally to him. “Emotions are more than just… feelings. They are hopes and dreams and people’s lives. You can use that, bolster your own abilities. Trust me, it’ll come naturally. I promise.”

Everyone, including Maguire looked uncertain, and Boyd reeked of fear. The little Asian doctor though suddenly beamed, “You mean fight psychic with psychic! Psychic pokemon are weak against other psychics. We use the emotions of the people of Atlantis to attack the beast.”

Trying not to look too amused, Dean nodded. It was simplistic, but whatever helped them figure it out. Maguire’s expression nearly made him laugh out loud and he did when Charlie bounced on her feet and shrieked, “I love it. Care-bear stare!” Boyd and Maguire looked even more confused at that but Charlie patted Maguire’s arm and smiled, “Don’t stress. Just follow my lead.”

She shoved Dean and said, “You do what you need to. We’ll be ready and we’ll kick it arse!” The others were less confident, but Dean had to trust them. Overhead, Fugly was roaring like mad, driven into a furious rage by the consistent barrage of grenades. Charlie was gamely holding the shield and dragging the others with her. Reluctantly Dean withdrew partially from the shield and nodded at Ronon. “You ready?”

Ronon nodded sharply. Keying his comm. Dean quashed a flurry of nerves and said softly to Chuck, “Dude, you got everyone on the same channel?”

“ _No, but everyone is going to hear you.”_  Dean sighed, and very deliberately did not look at Sheppard or anyone behind him. Turning and facing Fugly, he said to Chuck, “I need you to play some music, Chuck. AC/DC, if possible. Something good and loud.” There was a collective mutter on the comm. and Chuck gasped, “ _You serious?”_

Still trying not to feel too nervous, Dean sighed, “Dude, just … please.” Charlie shot him a winning smile, two thumbs up before grabbing Maguire and the little guy’s hands. On the comm. Sheppard barked for silence and then Chuck replied, “ _Kay, I’ve got something… coming in a second._ ” Dean gulped and then over the comm. said, “Everyone, listen up. We need you feeling positive, upbeat and … good. Think about Charlie and beating this thing. Ronon and I are going to close the portal. Just… go with it.”

No one replied and as the opening chords of ‘If You Want Blood’ echoed through the comm. Dean felt his heart pick up. “Good choice, Chuck,” he grinned, feeling like maybe this could work. Charlie mouthed at him ‘You are such a boy!’ and Dean grinned at her.

Ronon was looking at him like he was insane and he distinctly heard McKay call him a moron on the comm.. As the beat built, Dean shook off the worry and fear of what people were thinking, and focused on Fugly. It was staring at him, he felt it.

Cricking his neck, and shaking the tension out of his shoulders, he stepped past the barrier and as the beat pounding in his ear reached crescendo, sang along with Bon Scott, “It’s criminal!” He punctuated that first line with a massive bolt of lightning. Fugly shrieked and behind him the barrier held, Charlie laughing manically. “Criminal!” Dean built another smaller barrier around himself and Ronon and together they walked forward, Dean hurling more lightning and in the air, volleys of grenades from the rest of Atlantis battered the beast. Stunner fire joined in, and Sheppard’s calm presence was tangible amidst the soldiers. It was a growing crescendo of positive, happy feelings, a sheer relief from the hatred battering at them.

At the first line of the chorus, all of the Marines sang along, their voices rising in the air, “If you want blood, you got it! If you want blood, you got it!” The crescendo of emotion was incredible, a hundred fold chorus of peoples’ emotions pouring towards Charlie and the empaths. Her barrier grew, fed by Atlantis, strengthened by the empaths and Dean confidently walked forward, tossing another volley of lightning at the monster. It was a reciprocal swing, the more emotion there was, the lighter everyone felt.

Fugly’s head swung towards him, like it knew he was the biggest threat, and Dean shouted along with Bon, “Blood in the gutter! Every last drop!” Ronon tracked him, close on his heels, and they approached the portal, its shiny rip in the air dripping creatures. Ronon started shooting the smaller ones, and Dean bobbed his head along with the beat, timing his lightning strikes to the beat. “It’s animal!’ Behind him and on the comm. people were singing, almost drowning out Bon. Charlie sounded hoarse and her barrier was huge and shiny gold. Sheppard was singing, and seemed to have each of the firing lines timed to the music as well. It all felt electric and wonderful, and even though Dean was running out electricity, the clouds tapped dry, he was still _pulling_ energy from somewhere. The dark buildings of Atlantis were awash with muted light from the portal, Fugly’s half-formed head swinging back and forth at the combined attack. They were not giving it a chance to recover. Chuck was singing in Dean’s ear, pounding on the desk in the tower and the song was getting louder, like he was turning up the volume deliberately. “If you want blood, you got it! If you want blood, you got it!”

They were close enough to the portal to see through it and it there was a dark, swirling mass of creatures on the other-side. Millions upon millions of them. Dozens of tentacles were bouncing off his barrier, Ronon’s fire keeping the smaller creatures away and Dean shouted, “Go, start painting it. I’ll cover you.” The stream of negative emotion was palpable and Dean dug deep to keep his emotions up, tapping more and more into the rising tide of ecstatic emotion. Away from the combined force of Charlie and the others, it was a lot harder though, but possible.

Ronon didn’t pause, he ran forward, shaking the spray can. Dean extended his smaller barrier as much as he could and focused on holding it, keeping the tentacles away from Ronon. Fugly’s attention was solely on him, and the weight of its regard was heavy. This close he could see the lines etching its skin, wide mouth lowering like it wanted to swallow him. Charlie was practically vibrating behind her barrier, her emotions sharp and crystal clear – caught up in the moment. Maguire was a steady pulse next to her, the others lost in the swirl of Atlantis.

The guitars wailing in the chorus was accompanied by a growing tide of incredulous joy as Dean’s mad plan appeared to be working. As Ronon painted, Fugly was withdrawing, it’s head lowering – maybe retreating. The grenades from the Marines were not as numerous, a handful each time, and Dean was struggling to find any electricity to shoot lightning. He was managing only one bolt every now and then. He was drawing from the City itself; he could feel the buzz of energy through his skin.

Ronon was doggedly spraying and Dean stopped trying to shoot lightning when a tentacle nearly took Ronon’s head off. Fugly was getting closer, it’s mouth open as it tried to reach them, and Ronon stumbled under the onslaught of tentacles and anger.  Dean moved closer to him and focused solely on protecting Ronon. Fugly was screaming, no doubt trying to overwhelm their positive energy, and Dean winced at the vile hatred that battered at him. Charlie was flipping Fugly off, her face manic, screaming something at it. They didn’t have forever, and as the guitars in the song gave way to the last chorus, Dean shouted, “Hurry!”  

Ronon slipped as he neared the end, but the circle closed. Now he just had to draw the inner symbols. Dean normally didn’t care for choral stuff but the personnel of Atlantis sounded more like a rock concert. A hundred voices on the comm, all shouting “If you want blood, you got it! I want you to bleed for me!” Ronon, encouraged by the chorus, was spraying like mad, but doing it right and as he finished the last symbol, Fugly roared in pain, its head lifting, legs shuddering.

The portal was closing slowly around its neck, not with the usual snap of the others, and it looked like Fugly was fighting back, pushing on the portal. “Shit!” Fear lacing through him, Dean dropped the barrier and lashed out, lightning snaking from the heavens and spearing it right in the head. The strike was sharp, and Dean felt it in his bones, they were so close. Fugly screamed, mouth wide open and then, abruptly, the portal snapped closed, severing its head which fell with a thud that rattled the pier. It rolled on the surface, and then splashed into the ocean, gone in seconds. The two legs fell like severed tree trunks, one nearly crushing Ronon who neatly rolled out of the way. The weight of the legs rattled the pier. The trailing ends of the song were lost as the collected fighters, military and civilian cheered. “You got it!” Dean sighed. The tinier creatures were circling overhead, screaming, their fury impotent.

Chuck turned down the song and the comm. was filled with the sound of people cheering. In that glorious moment, with the storm tossed ocean spraying his face, wind lifting his hair, Dean watched the rising sun break through the clouds, storm finally sucked dry. Dark grey clouds turned yellow and red as the sun finally showed its face.

As the rays of sunlight hit the creatures, they exploded. Puffs of ash pinpricked the lightening sky, and hordes of the little buggers burnt up in the light. All over Atlantis, creatures and portals disappeared as the sun rose, and Chuck’s excited voice screamed on the comm. “ _They’re gone! They’re all gone! Sensors are showing nothing!”_

The cheers turned to cries of relief and excitement. Charlie was swinging around in Maguire’s arms, her laughter audible. Ronon slapped him on the shoulder and grinned, “Good fight.” The roar of emotion from the people of Atlantis was a high in and of itself and Dean felt like his grin was about to split his face wide open. On the comm., caught up in the rising tide of sheer joy, Chuck started playing, _Shake It Off_.

_“I stay out too late. I got nothing in my brain.”_

Dean laughed. McKay was yelling something about ear worms, demanding a change. Charlie was dancing, hell the whole pier was. And then Teldy was in his arms, kissing him like there was no tomorrow.

*sga*spn*sga*spn*sga*spn*sga*spn*sga*spn*sga*spn*sga*spn*sga*spn*sga*spn

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s note 2: I realise that Taylor Swift’s ‘Shake It Off’ doesn’t fit with the timeline of either shows, but then this is an AU and the SPN and SGA timelines are being handwaved anyway. So, just go with it. Also, it was the next song on my playlist after listening to AC/DC a dozen times as I wrote this, so… it fit.   
> If you didn’t listen along with “If you want blood” I still hope the final scenes worked. I had fun writing this, and hope you enjoyed it too.   
> Lyrics:  
> It's criminal  
> There ought to be a law  
> Criminal  
> There ought to be a whole lot more  
> You get nothin' for nothin'  
> Tell me who can you trust  
> We got what you want  
> And you got the lust  
> If you want blood, you got it  
> If you want blood, you got it  
> Blood on the streets  
> Blood on the rocks  
> Blood in the gutter  
> Every last drop  
> You want blood  
> You got it  
> Yes you have  
> It's animal  
> Livin' in the human zoo  
> Animal  
> The shit that they toss to you  
> Feelin' like a christian  
> Locked in a cage  
> Thrown to the lions  
> On the second page  
> If you want blood, you got it  
> If you want blood, you got it  
> Blood on the street  
> Blood on the rocks  
> Blood in the gutter  
> Every last drop
> 
> You got it


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

 

The storm was breaking up, the thick grey clouds gone and the wind was barely a gale. Either Winchester had sucked the storm dry, or it had reached it's inevitable conclusion and timed its death with the sunrise. Whatever the reason, Sheppard was immensely glad to see the sunrise.

"Was it the portal closing, or the sunrise?" McKay demanded, his face pale as he stabbed his tablet furiously. "What actually sent those things packing for good?" Rodney was hovering a tad too close to Sheppard, his arm brushing John's as he bounced on his heels, vibrating with residual adrenalin. Still feeling rather buoyed himself, John shrugged, "Both?"

"Pff!" McKay huffed. "Both doesn't help, Colonel. We need to know – especially if there is another attack. The signal hasn't stopped… so it must be the sun. We've been closing portals all night but nothing made them burn up like that." Rodney wasn't looking at Sheppard, his gaze was fixed on his screen, which was no doubt streaming all sorts of data from the Central Tower computers.

"Let's ask Winchester," Sheppard smiled, and McKay rolled his eyes. "I think I'll stick to actual scientific data thanks. Try and provide a rational reason and basis for his mumbo jumbo." John nodded, as it was a fair point. Now that the immediate crisis was over, they needed to understand where these creatures had come from, how they were opening portals, how and why the traps worked and most importantly, how to stop the signal.

Squinting a little as the rising sun coloured more and more of the sky, its rays bright and steady, Sheppard scanned the still buzzing crowd for Winchester. Across the pier, Winchester was making his way back across the wet surface, threading his way through the cheering people, most of whom were congratulating him and trying to talk to him. Ronon was on his heels, a steady hand on his shoulder and even from where Sheppard was standing, he could see that Winchester looked awful. Exhausted. Shattered. Every time someone slapped him on the shoulder and grabbed his hand, the guy winced, his smile a fixed grimace. The comms were alive with chatter, all channels buzzing and the whole City was still caught up in the jubilation and excess emotion the Empaths had generated.

Time to burst the bubble.

Motioning at Ronon, who nodded, Sheppard cleared his throat, tried again and piped Chuck. "City wide please, Chuck. All channels."

Over the comm., Chuck turned down the music and smiled, the expression audible in his voice, _"She's all yours, Colonel."_

Blinking away a wave of exhaustion, Sheppard dug out his Master Sergeant voice and said loudly, "This is Sheppard. Great job everyone. We survived but we still need to focus. Department Heads and all Majors meet me and Mr Woolsey in the next 30 for a debrief. Everyone else, report to your designated post-action posts. The Infirmary needs blood donors, the Mess needs help with food and we need to take stock of damage and urgent repairs. Switch back to your normal channels and let's move, people."

Unbelievably there was a rousing cheer as he signed off, and the gathered marines, personnel and gate teams acknowledged him with a scattered array of salutes, waves and 'yes sir's. Slowly people began to leave the pier, waiting their turn to enter the nearest building and take the transporter back to the tower, or to start the long walk back.

A red-eyed, slightly groggy looking Ronon guided an even worse looking Winchester to Sheppard. McKay hovered for a moment, eyes darting around, most often focusing on Winchester, clearly torn. "Go, check out the sensors and readings. I want a clear picture of what happened for the debrief."

A mixture of annoyance and relief flashed on Rodney's face and he nodded. It was a measure of how tired they all were that he left without saying anything. Major Teldy walked past, her gaze also fixed on Winchester but she broke off her stare when she caught Sheppard's look. She hurried on, talking into her comm., focused on her personnel. Teyla joined them, her hair a wild mess from the wind and storm. Several of the empaths, including Charlie were lingering, holding back – their progress towards the doors slow. Whether they were doing so in solidarity with Winchester, or if they were simply uncertain of their reception post-battle, Sheppard didn't have time to wonder.

Looking at them, making sure his expression matched his feelings Colonel Sheppard smiled, "You guys did great. I need you at your posts, especially you Maguire. I missed that first round of sandwiches." Sergeant Maguire and Boyd saluted and left at brisk trot. Charlie paused, her skin pale and wane, her freckles pronounced in the early dawn. "I need you on comms," John smiled and she sighed, but ran off, her salute sloppy. Dr Ito and the others were already at the entrance, and several Atlanteans were happily shaking their hands and continuing to congratulate them. Lt Kim and his squad were on clean up, clearing up the make shift catapults and water balloons and no doubt ready to provide protection if needed.

Once Ronon and Dean were close enough, Sheppard automatically reached out to touch Winchester and at his reflexive flinch, turned the reach into a casual stretch and said softly, "That was incredible, Winchester. I have absolutely no idea how I'm going to put this in a report, but shit, I'd love to see General Landry's face when he reads it."

Visibly gathering himself, Dean smiled, shrugging like it was nothing. "Pretty much made it up as I, we, went along."

"Figured," Sheppard grinned. "Look, I know you are tired, but I want you in the debriefing. You too," he indicated to Ronon and Teyla.

"I must check on Torren, but I will be there," Teyla agreed, and Ronon shrugged. As tired as he was, John fought a yawn, noting that Ronon still had a gentle hold on Dean's elbow – like he was tethering the man in place. Winchester was blinking vaguely, eyes bloodshot, face grey with exhaustion. He apparently had not noticed the steadying hold. "Do you think they'll be back?"

It was the question Sheppard really needed to know. Were they in for another battle and if so, when?

Opening his eyes a little, shaking his head as if to clear the fog, Winchester straightened. "Is the signal still broadcasting?"

Sheppard nodded, and shifted his feet, which were aching. Overhead the clouds were turning red and orange as more of the sun appeared.

"Then I'd assume the worse and prepare for sunset."

Teyla, Ronon and Sheppard stared at Dean, the crash of waves against the pier loud, spray reaching them even at the base of the building. "Why sunset?" John asked, already planning how he was going to rest everyone if they only had maybe 14 hours.

"Oh, ah, magic, uh, spells and such don't exactly like sunlight.. no wait… uhm." Dean's face was creased with concentration as he battered his tired brain into providing a rational answer. Rubbing his face with one hand, the other tucked into his shredded coat, Dean stepped away from Ronon, breaking the contact. Clearing his throat, he shot Sheppard a worried look, and John tried to project calm reassurance. The guy wasn't leaking emotion or anything, not like when they'd first met him. You didn't need to be an empath to realise how unsettled and nervous he was. "Sunlight and running water have a … deadening effect on the supernatural. Ghosts and shit don't like to cross rivers, it weakens them. Spells and curses sometimes lose their effect at sunrise, sometimes – if they aren't too strong. A lot of supernatural stuff doesn't like sunlight – vampires for example. It's like… the night is their natural habitat, but that don't mean they can't operate in the day, just that they prefer darkness."

Winchester's voice ended on an up note, like he was questioning himself, or maybe already questioning their trust in his confusing answer. Sheppard, well used to wrestling logic from long rambles of the over tired and eccentric, smiled wryly as he said, "Monsters come out at night, so there's a good chance these things will be back after sunset."

Waving his hand in a 'got in one' motion, Dean yawned and mumbled, "Probably. Unless you figure out how to turn that signal off."

Stomach rumbling, adrenalin long faded, Sheppard pulled himself together and said, "Got it. Ronon, run him past the Infirmary, get him some food, see you at the briefing. Teyla?"

"I'll tell Torren that you'll see him later," she smiled. Dean was rapidly protesting without actually saying anything as Ronon gently frogmarched him towards the nearest transporter. "I can walk just fine, dude!"

Fortunately, Ronon pulled him nearer and whatever he rumbled to Dean was lost on the wind, but Winchester laughed. Teyla shouldered John slightly as she passed and her smile was as tired as he felt, "It never ends does it?"

"I think we'd die of boredom if it did, but I wouldn't mind an epitaph on my grave: John Sheppard, Killed by Boredom."

*sga*spn*sga*spn*sga*spn*sga*spn*sga*spn*sga*spn*sga*spn*sga*spn*sga*spn

Charlie wasn't entirely certain what her reception would be as she slipped through the crowds of Atlantis personnel. Overall, the general vibe she was picking up was of excitement, relief and weariness. There was a heady aroma of surprise in the air though, which spiked as she neared people she considered friends and potential 'more than friends'.

Paula shot her a knowing smile. Carlos gave her 'double eyebrows of surprise'. Gina took a step back, before quickly closing the gap and placing a kiss on her cheek. Her D&D crew raised a 'huzzah!' as she ran past, but she felt Jan's hesitation and fear. Finally reaching Control, Charlie ran up the steps ignoring the heated look Chuck was giving her.

"Way to keep a secret, buddy," he hissed, and while his face was 'frowny', he wasn't able to keep his delight hidden from her. A delight tinged by massive overtones of glee and 'smirkiness'.

"I'm not taking roster duty back, Chuck. No way, no how. Border Control is mine. You wrangle the gate teams," she said firmly as she sat down, keying up her station. Chuck continued to grin at her, like Christmas had come early.

"No Chuck!"

She rolled over to her civilian channels and was inundated with chatter and buzz from the excited civilians. Dr Freeman and his old lady brigade were hogging a channel, debating something about Cthulhu and she locked the channel. Most of the Department Heads were co-ordinating their post-action clean up tasks and areas, with only Zelenka holding up the works, as the poor guy once again had to browbeat half of the idiot physicists into obedience.

The second she checked the general channel, she was bombarded with queries from people wanting to know if they could return to quarters yet, when was breakfast and who was going to replace their broken tablet.

Chuck was still grinning like a lunatic, so Charlie pulled a tongue at him and started to work.

*sga*spn*sga*spn*sga*spn*sga*spn*sga*spn*sga*spn*sga*spn*sga*spn*sga*spn

As Ronon directed him through the long twisting corridors of Atlantis, Dean's scattered thoughts hopped around Sam and not the present, despite the nagging urgency of the here and now. Vaguely he knew it was in part because his head was killing him, but mostly it was the desire to talk through the last twelve hours with someone who knew monsters and supernatural shit. The prospect of now having to explain himself to the Colonel and a large number of sceptical scientists only made Dean's head pound harder.

That first year after Sam left Stanford and Jessica died, Dean had sympathised with Sam's demon-induced headaches. He had worried himself sick at times about what those headaches meant and were possibly doing to Sam. Accompanying that sympathy, the feeling he remembered most from then, the one that coloured all of his recollections of Andy and Eva, was blind panic and fear. For Sam. Worry that he was losing him to the Yellow Eyed Demon and that the headaches were a herald for something far worse.

If Sam's headaches were even half of what Dean was feeling right now, post Fugly battle, Dean should have pumped the kid with the good stuff permanently. It felt like someone had buried a machete in his head and was slowly sawing his skull open, each long strident motion grating on the bone. He could barely see, the edges of his vision black and narrow and if Ronon wasn't carefully steering him past walls, through doors and around people, Dean knew he'd have collapsed within seconds. He’d managed to talk to Sheppard, he thought, but his headache had gone from painful to unbearable as they’d walked towards the Infirmary.

Fugly's scream was still trying to rip him in half.

"You alright, lad?"

Carson's worried face flickered before him and he flinched both at the suddenness of his appearance and the flitter of the man's hands over his arm.

"M'fine."

Ronon's solid presence thudded beside him, a steady, unrelenting beat of certainty and safety. Carson was muted, but spikes of fear and terror kept splitting the air, the space around Carson's head flashing like he was in a club and the music was on mute. Dean squinted, trying to see the doctor clearly, and reduce the pain at the same time. Why was everything so loud?

"Something strong I think."

Dean felt the bones in Carson's wrist flex as he grasped the hand approaching him. Beneath his fingers, Carson's pulse fluttered, like an injured bird and the stream of emotion that twisted around his head and face darkened.

Ronon's steady hand on his shoulder.

"Now, you are clearly in pain, Dean. This'll take the edge off…"

Aware on a distant level that he was probably going to leave a bruise, and a little worried that he didn't care, Dean tightened his grip, refusing to let Carson inject him. "Not knocking me out, doc."

Ronon's hair brushed his back, his arm, the guy's concern a layer within the layer of screaming emotions crowding the room. "Come now, you've not objected to pain meds before…" Carson's voice trailed off and Dean wondered, momentarily, if he was hurting the Scotsman.

"Dean?"

He knew he wasn't leaking, and while everyone else's emotions were super loud, they weren't the problem. Fugly's scream was ripping through him, over and over, with no sound or volume, just a relentless, mindless barrage of mental pressure and pain.

"Won't shut up," he hissed, the words slurred even to his ears, the stiff sheet on the gurney rough under his hand. Carson's pulse an alarm of panic under his fingers. The world was tilting like he was on a rollercoaster going a thousand miles an hour. Sam had hated the coaster in Topeka, but the wimp had loved Six Flags. Lights danced. Sound swirled. Carson reeked of fear. Ronon's touch was searing and hot.

"I think he's going into shock, or… maybe it's a reaction to the stress and exertion. Lay him back if you can…"

Dean tried to stand. He wasn't laying down. No way. Going down meant meds and restraints and electricity and cold, sterile rooms. Andrews smiling at him. The taste of metal in his mouth. Foreign minds that weren't Sam grabbing at him, ripping him open. Why the hell was Fugly still screaming? Ronon was holding him, blocking him. Carson disappeared, then turned into a bird, whirling over his head. Dean tried to close his eyes, and will the world away or just be still, but even his eyes betrayed him and the lights continued to dance in the dark, Fugly still screaming.

"Dean Winchester."

The world stopped.

For a second Dean thought the guy standing in front of him was wearing a trenchcoat and that bothered him somehow. As his vision cleared though, and the world righted itself, Private Jimmy Novak was standing in front of him, one hand on his shoulder.   

The guy's crew cut looked as odd as it ever did and his expression one of befuddled, well-meaning confusion – like it always was. Dean's head was still pounding, his brain trying to tunnel out of his skull and make like Steve McQueen and leap a barbed wire fence, but the crazy light show was gone. Or, merely muted as Novak abruptly gained and lost a halo, and then got it again.

"I believe this belongs to you."

Novak's deadpan, flat tone somehow conveyed amusement as he handed Dean a writhing black snake. Blinking, eyes watering and mouth feeling very dry, Dean stared at the snake, which was chirping and clawing at him, it's wings fluttering as it tried to burrow into his skin.

Transfixed by the creature, who had wrapped its tail around his thumb and was trying to strangle it, Dean _felt_ rather than heard Carson breath out a sigh of relief, and why was Ronon so pleased.

"It was distressed. Since you brought it from Mitchell's Folly, it is your responsibility."

Dean looked up at the earnest Marine who was invading his personal space. Somehow, the noise and tumult of the Infirmary was quieter, and Fugly's scream was gone. More grateful than he could really express and unable to actually verbalise how he was feeling, Dean growled, "No meds."

The little dragon, no longer pretending to be a snake, was chittering away, its pinprick claws sending pins and needles up his arm. Novak scanned the small creature and then Dean, his expression strange. "Dr Beckett has agreed to administer a mild painkiller, one which will not render you unconscious. Rather it will help balance your system and combined with an IV to replace blood sugar and fluids, you should feel better soon."

"M'fine," Dean grimaced, his migraine shifting into a heavy metal bass with accompanying screaming and hammers.

Ronon said something, as did Carson but they were speaking another language, which slipped away from him. The dragon chirped and Dean stroked its head, it's scaly hide surprisingly soft, the heat from its body a delicious warmth.

"Dean."

Novak was touching him. Again. The screaming subsided and Dean nearly broke down in relief, tears pricking his eyes. What was … "Dean. Allow Dr Beckett to assist. Ronon will ensure your safety. I personally will stand guard and no one will approach."

Why on earth hearing that Novak, of all people, would be nearby should make the slightest difference, but Dean found himself nodding, eyes drooping in a desperate plea to block out the light, the noise and the pain.

One moment he was awkwardly perched on a gurney, the next he was laying down, dragon curled on his chest. The pain was still there, a throbbing beat, but it felt locked away, distant. He _felt_ Ronon next to him, a worried point of watchfulness and Carson was fiddling with an IV line.

"Doc?"

Why did it feel like he'd swallowed sand?

"Hush, lad. All is well. Novak is keeping the beasties away, bar for the one you seem to have adopted and you are going to lie there for a good couple of hours."

"Briefing?" Dean felt no small amount of relief when Carson smiled, his face stern at the same time.

"I've told the Colonel and they are proceeding. I'm also getting the other Empaths in here to check that they are not experiencing similar after effects. I have limited experience with over-taxed Empaths but given the large amount of stress you and they were under, well, we all were, I figure …."

Dean lost track of Carson in the dark, the music in his head sounding familiar and he _brushed_ against the dragon's emotions as he drifted off, oddly delighted that the little guy was content.

*sga*spn*sga*spn*sga*spn*sga*spn*sga*spn*sga*spn*sga*spn*sga*spn*sga*spn

Carson closed the curtain, leaving only a narrow gap as he left Dean to Ronon's careful watch. Fortunately Ronon had not protested his own examination and aside from dozens of cuts and slices, he was mostly in need of rest, food and water. Maguire's teams were hard at work supplying everyone with sandwiches and coffee, and Ronon was demolishing his third.

Yawning, Carson blinked at his own exhaustion and made a mental note to check the rosters of the medical personnel. Everyone needed some serious rest as life in Pegasus often meant that the next crisis was imminent rather than at their convenience. Checking his watch, he frowned. He still had time to join the debriefing and make sure Wallstreet replaced the gloves and various other supplies cannibalised from the Infirmary. And it was a good opportunity to check on the senior personnel too, as no doubt, most if not all of them were ignoring injuries and exhaustion. Sheppard especially.

Pvt Singh hurried by with a platter of food and Carson snatched a likely looking sandwich for himself. Shoving a good mouthful in, he turned and almost ran straight into Pvt Novak. Catching himself, Beckett gasped, "Oh, sorry."

Unperturbed, Novak nodded and said, "You did not hit me." Caught up in the thousand things he needed to do, Carson nodded and made to hurry past when the Marine stepped aside. He'd barely gone two steps when he paused and caught Novak's gaze. The young man seemed unsurprised by Carson's turnabout, and looked at him with an expression of expectation.

"How did you know… er…" Carson swallowed his mouthful and stumbled, "Not many folk are comfortable around Empaths, let alone ones in distress. How did you know how to help Dean?"

During those hectic first minutes, Carson had feared that Dean was having a stroke or some sort of fit – or at least the start of one. Getting any sort of vital statistics had been impossible, as Dean resisted anyone trying to touch him. His skin though had been cold and clammy, breathing erratic, pupils pinpricks of black. Symptoms of shock and judging by his sensitivity to stimulus, the onset of a migraine. 

Unfortunately, he knew far too little about how the 'gift' of Empathy affected the human brain, and Dean's near violent refusal to be treated had been a surprise. He hadn't refused medication before. Hell, compared to some of the macho idiots on Atlantis, Dean was practically a model patient at times. His battle with a monster from another dimension clearly was not something he could just walk away from without any physical damage. Before Novak had stepped in, Carson had been seriously planning on the best way to sedate and restrain Winchester, just so he could help him.

Once Winchester had calmed enough to let Carson place an IV and run a few checks, there was no glaring indications of anything massively wrong, aside from obvious exhaustion and over-taxation, accompanied by a headache. However, Carson had ordered several tests, including a neurological one once Winchester was awake, and he had personnel to perform them.

Novak's shrug was casual and light yet somehow reminded Carson of a movement that had been practiced in the mirror. _This is what casual looks like_. "He looked like he needed a distraction." Carson blinked.

"Sometimes, after a battle, it is all too easy to lose oneself in the rush of the aftermath." Novak glanced at Beckett. "The dragon was a good way to distract him."

"Sure enough," Carson replied, aware that he was crushing the bread of his sandwich. "So, not something specific for Empaths?"

"Dean Winchester is the first Empath I have met, Dr Beckett."

Chatter on the comms momentarily distracted Carson and he listened in as Chuck relayed several immediate instructions over all channels. When he paid attention to Novak again, the Marine was standing guard at the curtains securing Dean's privacy and recovery. He opened his mouth to say something, thought better of it and trotted to his office. The debriefing was in full swing and he needed to get there before Wallstreet conveniently forgot about replacing stock for the infirmary. 

As Carson hurried towards the nearest transporter, he shoved his exhaustion to one side and finished his sandwich. His thoughts however kept returning to Dean Winchester and James Novak. Idly he felt the beginnings of the bruise Dean Winchester had left on his wrist. No matter how much the Colonel wanted answers, he wasn't letting Winchester out of the Infirmary until he was certain the young man wasn't about to have a stroke, fit, or flip out and kill them all. Perhaps that was why Novak was hovering. A shared concern that Winchester needed protection – and perhaps everyone else needed protection from him.

 

*sga*spn*sga*spn*sga*spn*sga*spn*sga*spn*sga*spn*sga*spn*sga*spn*sga*spn

John slowly put his feet on the conference table and fought back the groan the rose in his throat. He was so tired. The idea of closing his eyes and just drifting off was so tempting and he had no problem catching a solid couple of hour's right here in his chair.

Instead, he swallowed his yawn and quirked at eyebrow at Woolsey.

Richard looked rather un-Woolsey-like.

His hair was in disarray, and he'd made no attempt to neaten up for the meeting. It was almost like he wanted the senior personnel to know that he may not have been in the thick of the fighting, but he had not been cowering in his office. Sheppard hoped that Woolsey no longer felt a need to prove or demonstrate that he was one of them, and that he just hadn't bothered to clean up because, like everyone else, he was too tired and didn't care what they thought.

With Richard it was difficult to tell.

Leaning forward, his folded arms on the table, Richard said, "We need a more detailed explanation and understanding of these portals and Mr Winchester's traps before we report to the SGC." Woolsey rubbed his face and blinked rapidly, leaning forward a little more in his seat across from Sheppard.

"So we don't look like crazy assholes who ran around drawing satanic symbols all night in order to fight demons from hell?" Sheppard smiled and it felt brittle and sharp.

Richard's expression said it all. "The SGC have experienced similar, if not weirder, attacks and situations, but yes, I want 'something' scientific or at least rational to back up our actions."

John smiled again, looser now and yawned a laugh, "I'd love to see Landry's face when you tell him about beating back a twenty foot monster with rock and roll, and positive feelings." Woolsey's smile was small and brief, but it was genuine.

"Oh, I think we both can tell him that over a video conference, don't you think, Colonel?"

Sheppard started laughing, just picturing Landry's face. His ribs hurt, his head was drumming out a roll of 'too tired for this, way too tired for this' and it felt like one of the million cuts the monsters had inflicted was bleeding. Again. "Can we call General O'Neill at the same time?"

Woolsey snorted, and hid another smile behind his hand. "I am still struggling to believe that I spent hours making holy water balloons out of surgical gloves last night, and I recall it vividly, Colonel."

Nodding, Sheppard leant back and yawned, "Well, let's give McKay and Radek time to analyse the readings and whatever else they found. Then, when we dial Earth, hopefully our report will include actual, verifiable data along with the wild speculation." Richard nodded, his eyes dropping involuntarily.

Outside the conference room, Sheppard heard Chuck yelling at someone, but nothing bar a portal opening right above his head was getting him out of this chair. He couldn’t see the Gateroom chronometer from the conference room, but Atlantis was normally several hours ahead of Earth most the time. The SGC operated 24/7, what with needing to align gate-travel with differing planetary times and seasons – essentially making sure the gate teams made the best use of their time on planet. Nonetheless, despite inter-galactic drift, differing rotations and the fact that they were literally millions upon millions of miles apart, Atlantis tried to maintain a fairly normalised reporting timeframe with Earth – so that true emergencies wouldn't be confused with daily data dumps. Hopefully Rodney would have something concrete to add in a couple of hours, and wouldn't be too caffeine addled – that way he could do the actual talking and Sheppard could feign interest and alertness.

"This will raise the question again of Mr Winchester's presence on Atlantis and his peculiar history." Richard was staring out through the open doors of the conference room, and he turned to face Sheppard as he finished his sentence. "On our request, they have not begun the process of officially transferring Winchester into military service. While the SGC and the IOA still have greater political influence than T&E, they are bound to protest the loss of such a strong empath."

Sheppard shrugged. He didn't give a shit about T&E's loss or complaints. Instead he stared at Woolsey, and said, "You mean the fact that maybe Winchester isn't as crazy as his file says and there may be some reality to that all supernatural shit he was talking about and that might just scare the SGC off from transferring him." Richard nodded.

"Mr Woolsey," John sat up straighter, his feet falling to the floor. "Let's face it. If Winchester hadn't known about devil traps or whatever the hell they are, we'd be pretty much screwed, if not dead right now. I for one would like to get a hell of a lot more intel from him and I'm damn sure the SGC will too. Who knows when else that information might prove useful. If ghosts and demons are real, then that's something the SGC needs to be prepared to accept. Hell, Daniel Jackson is pretty much walking talking proof that death isn’t really the end we think."

 Sighing, Woolsey nodded, "Agreed, Colonel. I just don't think it's going to be as easy as we'd like. In fact, they may want to move him back…"

The claxon alarm of an incoming wormhole split the air, drowning out Woolsey. Chuck needlessly, but correctly, announced, "Unscheduled incoming gate. Unscheduled incoming gate." Sheppard didn't need to see the response team to know that they were deploying. "Confirmed IDC. It's Raguu, the mayor's code."

Sheppard hurried out into the Gateroom, Woolsey on his heels. Raguu was one of their most consistent and reliable trading partners, a recent member of the Coalition, and was an approved R&R destination. "Wonder what's up?" Sheppard sighed, hoping it was nothing, but almost certain it was something.

Down on the Gate's level, McNally and his response team were ready and as Chuck dropped the shield, the incoming wormhole materialised, lighting up the room. The moment the event horizon stabilised, a man ran through, covered in blood. His clothes were torn and ragged, and he shouted, "Monsters! Monsters attacking us. Blue flying monsters!"

The man was not the Mayor, but he looked familiar, probably one of the traders. He collapsed to his knees. "Help!" More people appeared, men, women and children, all running, covered in cuts and bites, blood spreading on their clothing. Screams and cries filled the room, both of terror and relief. "Monsters! Everywhere!"

"Shit," Sheppard hissed, and run towards Chuck. "Alert medical and emergency response. We need to clear a room, now." Chuck nodded, his battered faced grim. The main town on Raguu was not overly large, and Atlantis could easily house the entire population for a short time, but the trickle of people coming through the wormhole was slowing. There were maybe twenty plus Raguuans milling around, all crying, all in shock.

Perhaps just to eliminate any doubt, a swarm of dark blue grey monsters flew through the Gate, their shrieks and screams wild. Instantly the response team opened fire, thankfully with stunners. A handful of the creatures flew into direct sunlight through one of the broken windows and instantly turned to smoke. The others fell quickly to the stunner fire and Sheppard shouted, "Close the Gate."

"No!" The first Raguuan shouted, standing. "The rest of our people!"

Sheppard waved, and shouted back, "Don't worry, we'll go get them." Chuck dropped the wormhole and the room was plunged into relative dimness again. Before Sheppard could speak, the Gate activated again. "Shit," Chuck cursed. Not waiting, Sheppard keyed his comm. to a military channel and barked, "I need a couple of squads, whoever is rested and healthy enough to help evac Raguu. Those blue bastards are attacking them."

Durov replied, " _Affirmative, Colonel. I will gather two squads."_ Durov was supposed to be on a rest rotation, but the other Majors all had assignments. Before Sheppard could continue, Chuck shouted, "IDC confirmed. It's the Dalerans." Again, the moment the event horizon stabilised, a half a dozen people ran through, several looking over their shoulders. "Monsters!" one cried, her face streaked with blood. "Monsters from white holes in the air! Is it the Ancestors? Are they punishing us?" More Dalerans appeared, many more than the Raguuans and fortunately Carson and his exhausted medical team arrived. "This way, this way,” he cried.

Sheppard turned to Woolsey, as he prepared to head down the stairs, "We'd better dial the SGC, soon. Guess this isn't over."

Woolsey nodded, his face grim.

*sga*spn*sga*spn*sga*spn*sga*spn*sga*spn*sga*spn*sga*spn*sga*spn*sga*spn

TBC


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Small authors note: this installment is dedicated to Endgame65 and waitingforAslan who have been very, very patient and persistent in reminding me about this fic. A longer authors note at the end.

Chapter 7

*SGA*SPN*SGA*SPN*

Dean awoke to the sound of some bird chirping in his ear. Waking up was difficult, like trying to pull free from anaesthesia or heavy drugs. The pull back to unconsciousness was strong, and if the damn bird hadn't been so damn insistent, Dean would have comfortably drifted off again, back to blissful darkness. "Shaddap," he hissed, eyes burning in the bright light, mouth dry, head pounding. The narrow slit of the world he chose to see was far too bright and noisy and Dean groaned internally.

The bird did not shut up but continued to trill an annoying song of hunger and starvation, its song drilling into his brain, itchy and making his own stomach growl in response. Unhappy, but now suddenly starving, Dean fought the rest of the way to full wakefulness, forcing his eyes open, and grimacing against the light. Without really meaning to, but aware he'd never truly wake unless he sat up, he moved, muscles protesting, bones shaking. Sitting up was not a good idea as the room tilted, then righted itself and then proceeded to go sickly green and blue.

"Eugh."

Emotions from half a dozen people nearby deepened the greens into a forest of anxiety, stress and worry, while the blues boomed into an ocean of determination and confidence. Outside the steady crash of storm-born breakers on the piers of Atlantis echoed the salty taste of the blue emotions. The greens though were just making him feel nauseous and that was a weird feeling – hunger tinged with nausea. A prickle of red-hued hunger blurred in the corner of his eye and through grit, dust and dirt, Dean peered awkwardly at the little dragon who was using his shoulder as a perch from which to survey its disappointing territory and serious lack of food. The little guy was awash with reds and pinks of frustration, anger, hunger and annoyance. "Dude, seriously?" Dean groaned, his brain aching in chorus with his stomach as the dragonet's emotions clawed at him.

The dragon chirped imperiously, further buffeting Dean with need and anger, all derived from hunger and frustration at not being able to fly.

As if summoned by sigils on the floor or an ancient spell, Pvt Novak walked through the flimsy curtains, bearing a tray of thick sandwiches that smelled heavenly. Oddly, Novak was surrounded by pale whites and golds, and the brilliance of it hurt Dean's eyes and mind. Had he noticed these colours before? However, both Dean and the dragon perked up as the smell of good meaty sandwiches hit them. Novak said stiffly, "You should be asleep."

"Hungry," Dean murmured, reaching for a sandwich, which Novak obligingly brought nearer. Placing the tray on the bed, he said, "The mess is still understaffed so more sandwiches, and these appear to have been made with machetes."

Dean didn't care, his mouth full of bread, meat, sauce and tomato. "It's good," he mumbled and tore off a hunk of the sandwich for the dragon who was keening in demand and need. The little creature dove off his shoulder and proceeded to messily devour it, spraying crumbs and bits all over the sheets in a ghastly, but cute display of ferocity. Dean snorted at the sight and stuffed more sandwich in his mouth. "Fanks."

"Sergeant Maguire was most insistent that I ensure you were fed. Feeding you was the only reason I escaped his draft of kitchen duty. He has every available Marine and civilian making some sort of food. So it is I who owe you thanks." Novak sounded serious and somewhat grateful. Dean glanced at him, even as he reached for another sandwich, absently giving more to the little dragon. "Dude that sounded almost… funny."

"It did?" Novak asked, sitting down in the chair Ronon normally occupied.

Dean nodded, "Hmmmm. Almost, your delivery needs some work though." Novak sat upright in the chair, like he was on parade, or ill at ease. None of that unease though bled into his emotions, which were still dancing through shades of white peace and gold confidence. The little dragon was settling into orange and yellow tones of contentment, its belly bulging as it wolfed down more meat, ignoring the bread now and targeting the protein.

After his third sandwich and some peace and quiet, Dean swallowed the last mouthful, feeling a bit steadier and less like the world was collapsing around him. The headache which had nearly killed him was still present but it was now a dull ache in the back of his brain, an insistent pounding dulled by pain medication no doubt. Carson had attached two IVs, and Dean frowned at them, despite feeling grateful that his head wasn't splitting open anymore. Fugly's scream was gone, banished by sleep and opiates and the headache that remained felt 'normal' rather than psychically induced and disabling.

The food was helping, but Dean still felt hollowed out, and flat. His comm was on the little cabinet next to the bed, and the thought of listening in on all the noise made his heart pound. The room was less sea green as he sat back against the pillows, gathering himself, but the fact that he was seeing emotions as colours was somewhat worrying. It wasn't the first time this had happened, and it generally faded as his barriers strengthened over time, but it was worrying sign. "What's going on? What's the time?" he asked Novak absently, seeking distraction rather than conversation.

Pvt Novak blinked and turned to face Dean a little more, almost as if Dean had interrupted deep thought but he answered readily. "It's midday and I have orders to ensure that you do not leave your bed nor this room, such that it is."

His voice was calm and nothing about his emotions coloured or spiked to indicate fear or anger or anything really more than the steady glow of 'at peace'. Dean, however, felt his own fear spike, despite trying not to panic. As steady as he could, he asked, "Am I under arrest?"

Novak titled his head in confusion, even though his emotions remained steady and he replied firmly, "No. You are not. Dr Carson was very clear. You are to remain here as he has ordered several brain scans over a period of hours. He wishes to ensure that the alien beast's attack did not damage you, or that your efforts have not caused a neurological defect. The other empaths are also scheduled for multiple scans over the next few hours and days."

Some of Dean's fear eased, but it was partly replaced with the ingrown distrust and dislike of medical tests and being under the microscope as it were. He'd spent far too long had the careful and insidious watch of T&E medical staff to ever be fully at ease in a hospital. Shifting on the bed, his legs itching to get going and put some distance between confines of the room, IVs, scans, tests and nosy doctors, Dean asked carefully, "And if I refuse?"

His expression moving from perplexed to displeased, Novak replied, "He will probably speak to you at length, and attempt to dissuade you. Given that this is the first time you have encountered such a creature, I'd assume that you would wish to ensure that there is no unseen injury or damage, Dean Winchester."

Dean opened his mouth to flippantly state that he'd prefer blind ignorance any day over knowing he had a brain bleed or something, but the little dragon started to choke, the piece of bread it was trying to swallow nearly as big as its head. Half-laughing, half-cursing, Dean rescued it, pulling the soggy piece out of its mouth and it had the temerity to complain and try to bite him. It was radiating yellow and gold pleasure, now tinged with a red outline of annoyance as Dean tucked it into the crook of his arm. "Dude, you look like you're about to explode. Enough."

The dragon chirped and complained, fidgeting in his arms, its claws pinpricks while it's smooth, leathery body and wings rasped against his skin. Dean picked up a few morsels of meat and it happily licked them off his fingers. It belched and promptly began curling up, ready for a nap. It's damaged wing curled awkwardly as it did so, and Dean watched with some amusement as it fussed, before settling between the folds of his shirt, arm and chest. "It appears to be an infant, or at least very young," Novak said.

Dean nodded but changed the subject, "You didn't say what was going on? Any sign of the portals or the monsters?"

When Novak didn't reply, Dean glanced up, unable read the dude and found that it annoyed him. Novak was staring at the dragon and Dean. "You are in no condition to leave the infirmary."

That sentence prickled up his spine and a pinpoint of green fear lanced against his vision. "What's going on, Private?"

Disturbingly calm, Novak replied, "There has been no sign of any portal or beast in Atlantis. However, six allied worlds have contacted Command, seeking assistance. They are under attack by the same creatures. Colonel Sheppard is coordinating an evacuation and rescue operation. Several teams are off-world attempting to help survivors reach their Gates. Sergeant Wallstreet has continued his production of water-balloons and tactical weapons and is coordinating the placement of refugees in Atlantis. Major Lorne is securing the City against a possible second attack. The majority of the medical team are deployed to the interim infirmary and all personnel, not on mandated rest are deployed to one of those initiatives."

Before Dean could move, the Private stood up and closed the distance between them, his expression earnest and sincere. "You are on mandated medical rest, Mr Winchester."

"I can help," Dean growled, clenching the sheets on the bed in his fist.

"At present, you cannot. You may pose more of a risk to any team right now, than an asset." Novak's face was serious and earnest, and utterly determined to stand in Dean's way.

Conscious of the little dragon on his arm, Dean none the less growled, and stabbed his free hand at Novak. "What the hell is that supposed to mean? I had a damn headache and now it's gone. What the hell about that is a threat?"

Private Jimmy Novak raised a single eyebrow and pointed behind Dean. Furious, Dean turned around, an angry snark ready to roll off his lips but it died when saw the floating bedpan, tray, flower pot and medical chart. Unlike in the movies when unexpected telekinesis is observed, the items didn't fall to the floor. Rather they started to vibrate the longer he stared at them as if connected to his anger. As a haze of green anxiety and fear coloured everything, Dean shut his eyes, willing the world away, yearning for his shields to strengthen.

He checked his barriers and aside from feeling woozy when he did so, they seemed just as strong and solid as ever. The emotional colours were concerning but not usual. He'd moved objects kinetically before – it just usually took all of his strength to move a pen on his own. Hell, if he was jacked into Sam, he could toss a bed and Sam, well, Sam could probably knock a building down when they were connected. This? Moving things without thinking about it, without trying? That was… weird.

"I have placed the items back in their places, Dean."

Surprised, Dean opened his eyes and scanned the room. Novak was beside him, holding the pot plant and everything else was obeying gravity again. "Did I imagine that?"

"No, you did not. Hence the importance of Dr Beckett's scans, I believe."

"I did it before?"

"Yes," Novak nodded. "While you were unconscious, you levitated various items which is partly why I am stationed here."

"Partly?"

"Partly."

"You don't sound like any jar head I've ever met, Novak. You sound more like a librarian or … or... an alien."

"I like to read."

"Yeah, right. So, what now? I just lay here and wait for the Doc?"

"Exactly."

"Shit."

"I can bring you more food if you wish."

Dean waved him away and leant back into his pillows, thoughts skirting and bouncing around his now returning headache, swirling colours and damn unexpected kinesis. Trust Dr Beckett to station an over-conscientious watch-dog like Novak. Maybe after a nap things would be better…

Overhead, an incoming klaxon wailed, and Chuck's voice echoed through the speakers in the infirmary. "Response teams to Gate Command. Command is under attack!"

*SGA*SPN*SGA*SPN*

For three days straight, the Marines, Gate Teams and collective civilians of Atlantis battled hordes of inter-dimensional monsters on and off-world.

Extended military operations were nothing new for the experienced Atlanteans, who periodically had to respond to crises which lasted days if not weeks, with little to no planning. It was a mark of the long success of the military at the SGC and Atlantis that the majority of off-world military forces were flexible, adaptable and most importantly resilient. If you survived the first couple of months of duty, your chances of survival increased exponentially. Colonel Sheppard had the utmost faith in his command staff and the four companies of Marines.

It was rare however that they had to run operations across several planets all at once though, including defending Atlantis.

On the evening of the day after the first attack, Major Lorne and his Company successfully defended Atlantis against the return of the creatures. As the sun set, and its light faded to twilight, the flying monsters reappeared, portals opening wherever there was an absence of devil traps or salt. Lorne though had been thorough and the main living and operation areas were all tightly secured. He and his Marines spent a long night ensuring that no Fugly returned.

Teldy and Durov coordinated dozens of rescue operations across Pegasus, as distress calls from Coalition and non-Coalition planets flooded in. Despite the usual objections, Colonel Sheppard lead more than one team to the heaviest hit worlds, as sunset brought the return of the invading hordes. Wallstreet was drowning under the logistic pressures of supplying rescue teams, offensive operations, feeding and housing hundreds of refugees and Atlanteans. His slick network of trade, supplies and barter arrangements was put under incredible strain, both to feed more mouths and to outfit more and more teams, as Lt Kalen trained refugees how to fight the creatures and bolstered the exhausted Atlantis teams. Woolsey assisted with the ever increasingly complex diplomatic and humanitarian crisis, securing the assistance of unaffected worlds and reassuring frightened allies. For ten thousand years the Wraith had taught humanity in Pegasus to look after number one and to rejoice that another world was under attack because it meant you were safe momentarily. Many planetary leaders and governments were reluctant to share resources which they may need in the event of an attack. Woolsey dealt with it all adeptly, if not with the gentle touch Elizabeth had had, or the experience of Col. Carter. The SGC was demanding reports and were poised to help, the Daedalus already on its way back to Pegasus. However the fear that opening the StarGate to Earth would result in the creatures attacking Earth meant no immediate assistance - yet.

Rodney and his fatigued science and engineering teams pinpointed the source of the attacks to the innocuous blue turtles which seemed to dot Pegasus bric a brac markets. Not every world had blue turtles, but those that did were definitely under attack. It was difficult to pinpoint a culture or planet where these stone turtles originated from, as they appeared to be ubiquitous and fairly common. Half a dozen dedicated science teams were studying the signal emanating from the turtles, trying to determine its source, cause and nature. Theories ranged from sub-space to sub-sonic with the usual range of disparaging academic arguments for and against each theory. Lorne had had to break up an actual fist fight in the labs on day two when Dr Mendoza climbed into Dr Jürgen when he suggested the turtles were broadcasting on an astral plane.

Chuck lost Charlie, who was deployed with rotating Gate Teams tasked with rescue operations. Maguire, Boyd and Ito were also assigned to teams to fight creatures and shield against Fuglies. Each Empath was strong enough to offer adequate protection if a Fugly appeared even if they could not defeat or kill it and by Day two, several massive Fuglies had been reported on a few planets. Charlie had kept a shield up for escaping civilians and they had all reached the Gate safely. Early on, Sheppard's focus had been evacuation rather than battle. Clear out civilian populations during the day, secure critical areas with devil traps, prevent the massive hordes from overwhelming whole towns and cities. At sunrise, the hordes disappeared, and more traps could be drawn, more salt lines laid out, secure areas improved. Turtles were destroyed on sight, the little blue decorations blasted, exploded and burnt. Alas, once a portal had opened on a world, even if the turtles were destroyed, the hordes returned the following night.

Lorne nearly lost an eye the third night battling for Atlantis. No Fuglies, but the creatures were smart and determined, pouring out through gaps in barriers of protection, overwhelming weak spots and taking advantage of flagging spirits. Fortunately, Teyla and her extensive army of refugee fighters were assisting in the defence of Atlantis and they held off the screaming waves of beasts while the Marines retreated. Once organised and protected by traps and sigils, the surrounded humans were more than able to resist and fight back. It was an unending fight though that was proving most problematic. It was getting harder and harder to schedule down time and recuperation for exhausted teams.

By Day three the medical teams were near dead on their feet. Supplies were at a critical level and Carson was arguing vehemently with Woolsey about allowing a wormhole in from the SGC. Atlantis needed supplies urgently, as exhaustion and long operations were resulting in more injuries and near fatalities. The casualty list was growing and Carson was refusing to hand out any more stims both because of the danger of extended use and the fact that he was running out. The creatures were using open wormholes to extend their range to other worlds, worlds which did not have little blue turtles amongst their markets and decorations. As desperate people fled their worlds, the tiny blue winged monsters followed them through wormholes and the next night portals appeared on those worlds.

Chuck was systemically contacting every planet Atlantis had ever visited and sent instructions on devil traps, salt lines and successful weapons against the beasts. He dialed planets and sent pairs of diplomats on their down time to prepare planets in between coordinating rescues, evacuations and supply runs. As he stared at the long, impossible list of planets screaming for help through bloodshot eyes, he felt the clutch of despair in his heart. As fast as they were helping, the creatures were spreading. The list of lost lives and disrupted populations was staggering.

McKay was a vibrating, walking caffeine-deprived maelstrom, hurling abuse at his team as theory after theory failed to understand the signal spreading through Pegasus, let alone offer a solution to stopping it. Wallstreet kept stealing his people for idiotic things like making food, and anyone with the least amount of Gate experience was deployed periodically to provide barrage support to evacuations. Carson and his team were training field medics on the fly, focusing on bites and slashes and immediate assistance to prevent blood loss and infection. Sheppard, Teldy and Durov gated back to Atlantis long enough to pick up fresh Marines and fighters before returning to critical evacuations, despite Woolsey and Caron's loud protests. Poor Lorne nearly burst into tears when at sunset on Day three portals opened in the long corridors in the distant, unprotected parts of Atlantis and thousands upon thousands of creatures poured out. As before, the determined, manic creatures slipped through gaps and weak defences and for the fourth straight night, the battle for Atlantis continued. On paper, all they had to do was plug holes and reinforce weakening devil traps but in reality, the increasing population of refugees, careless and fatigued fighters and increased cunning of the creatures meant twelve hours of rapid response and relentless fights. In sufficient numbers, the creatures seemed able to push through weak barriers and there was no telling when and where that would occur.

On other planets, the moment a Fugly appeared, teams evacuated and cleared out as many civilians as possible. There was only one person who had even a small chance of battling those massive, building-high creatures and Dean Winchester could only be in one place at a time.

Carson and Private Novak had only been able to keep Dean in the infirmary for a couple of hours. Ignoring the continued flare of emotions painted in colour, the moment Dean felt steady enough to stand, he joined the rescue operations. The little dragonet was left in the care of Torren and the various mothers looking after children. Dean was unable to shake Novak however. The annoying Private was like a burr. He stuck like glue to Dean and saved Dean from real hurt and danger more than once as Dean risked his life over and over again holding off the creatures.

Novak's protective detail was supplemented periodically by Ronon, Lt Kim, Sanchez, Jones and Sheppard himself. By default, Dean was assigned and assigned himself to the worlds under heaviest attack, and he generated shields to protect fleeing villagers and blasted entire swathes of creatures when the opportunity presented itself. At first, it seemed that Dean was just unlucky and that Fuglies happened to appear on planets he was helping. After the third time a large enough portal appeared, large enough to accommodate a Fugly to emerge and terrorise the humans with a psychic attack, it was no longer bad luck. They were definitely drawn to him.

Late on Day one or early on Day two, Sheppard and Dean had a screaming match when the Colonel tried to bench Winchester, arguing that he was endangering the operations if the Fuglies were drawn to him. Dean's not entirely logical but nonetheless, true argument that Fuglies had appeared on other planets without him being there meant that he needed to be there to counter them. At the time, Dean had been slightly distracted by the sheer variety of shades of red anger, frustration and black fear which surrounded Sheppard during the argument. Dean had long used his empath abilities to enhance his impression of people, as their personalities and characters shone through their emotions. During that argument with Sheppard, Dean had been struck by the steel determination that ran through Sheppard, a shining silver mesh central to his character. The Colonel had depths of character so brilliant it hurt to look at it. Dean, however, won the argument through simple necessity. Old Hayn had to be evacuated completely when creatures poured down from the mountains and flooded the market town in a wave of destruction and death.

With Sheppard and Novak beside him laying down covering fire, Dean battled the biggest Fugly yet as it slowly emerged from a portal. There was no AC/DC this time, no Charlie and Maguire as back up. Dean had no chance of killing this one, no thunderstorm to steal lightning from. With its scream hammering at the shield he projected, Dean kept it and the creatures off the fleeing population, his knees buckling under the onslaught. Novak was a steady reassurance at his side, calm certainty and confidence. Sheppard was a riot of adrenalin, fear and determination. In fact, the sheer determination and confidence of the Atlanteans were enough to counter the fear and despair of the Haynites who fled past him, and Dean poured that calm confidence into his own shields and the barrier keeping the Fugly's attack at bay. They didn't bother to wait for sunrise. The moment the town on old Hayn was empty, the glistening snow-covered streets trampled by a thousand feet, mud-churned and black in the night, Dean retreated, protecting the Marines who fired steadily at the swarm overhead. A silent, dead town vanished as they stepped through the gate, a stream of monsters following them only to die as the waiting Gate Room defences took them out.

Like everyone else, Dean caught a nap when he could. He was scheduled down time of course as the constant action was not feasible or realistic, but the incredible need and volume of emergent operations meant that naps were brief, meals sporadic and exhaustion a constant companion. Oddly, Novak seemed unaffected by it all and was a steady, constant companion. Ronon's bright smile grew grim, dark circles under his eyes accompanied by an increasing number of cuts and bruises. Teyla became wane and flat, her eyes dull when Dean caught a glimpse of her as she hurried past at the head of a group of refugee fighters. He grabbed her hand and _shot_ her a boost of confidence and courage. Her grin was toothy but genuine. Sergeant Jones was catnapping under a table in the mess as Dean jogged past, a half-eaten sandwich in his hands. Lt Kim clapped him on the back as they passed each other in the armoury, each picking up fresh stunners and ammo. Kim was sporting a long slice on his cheek, and his head was covered by a bandage which gave him the look of a lobotomy patient. Dean saw the back of Durov several times as the Major bellowed in Russian at various holy hand-grenade brigades as they battled swirling swarms of monsters. Teldy barely looked at him at a brief conference on Frisco when the sheer volume of creatures was blocking out the light of the moons, and a hundred or so Friscans were trapped in their village. She brushed his hand as they hurried towards the fight, her deep fatigue and fear sharp and cold. He had no time to counter it, and a stab of worry for her pierced him. She was surrounded by deep greys and black emotions, undercut by red anger.

Each day it grew harder and harder to bolster the flagging spirits of the fighters. While determination and grit remained at the fore, Dean couldn't help but notice the increasing weight of despair and exhaustion as the battles continued, with no end in sight. He avoided the science teams entirely, unable to stand the bitter frustration and anger edging from their labs, colouring the walls and computers. Charlie and the other Empaths were doing their best, and it was easy to spot their bright points of empathic power when he crossed paths with them, but Dean knew they noticed his weariness just as he did theirs. The pace and unrelenting pressure were unsustainable.

Three solid days of fighting, fear, death and stress was taking its toll on the citizens of Atlantis and Dean felt it in more ways than one. Only Novak seemed unaffected and if Dean hadn't been so exhausted himself, he may have been more suspicious. The guy was a steady presence so Dean didn't really notice anything amiss. Sheppard has haggard and bleak on Day three, gulping down a bottle of water as he waited for Chuck to dial up PX34R5 aka New Boston. Dean yawned beside him, his head foggy with an ever-present headache that was his constant companion. "You ok, Winchester?" Sheppard barked, voice rough, eyes bloodshot.

Dean nodded a deep ache in his bones, yearning for the chance to sleep and keen to get going before the wave of adrenalin he was riding subsided. He knew it was pointless to tell anyone that he was syphoning off anxiety and fear from most people in the Gate Room and using it to fuel himself.

"Chevron Seven locked," Chuck called, sounding just as exhausted as everyone felt. Mikilai was sleeping at his station, his hair a regular bird's nest. Rodney and Zelenka were at the deep space sensor array arguing softly, as they doggedly sought answers. The room felt subdued, flat, spent. Dean yawned again as the gate engaged and the blue splash appeared. "Wormhole engaged."

"Stay sharp everyone. New Boston asked for help hours ago, we're probably walking into a shit-storm," Sheppard growled, checking the tablet in his hands. The working battle plan was an ever changing mess, considering no plan survived contact with the enemy and there had been nothing but contact. "Chuck, you sure it's daylight on Boston?"

"Is the planet not called Neui Boustin," Novak asked in a quiet voice, his confused expression familiar by now. Dean nodded, swallowing down a mouthful of an awful protein bar someone had been handing out. "Yep."

"Why then…"

"Just drop it, Novak."

Wiping his eyes, Chuck shouted back, "Checked it twice, Colonel. With all this gating, our sync schedule is 100% accurate though." Sheppard grunted in reply, also halfway through a protein bar. Ronon and a squad of Marines ran in and Sheppard grinned, "Nearly missed it, buddy." Ronon ignored him but bumped his shoulder as he strode past.

"Everyone good? Standard formation as we exit. Cover Winchester until the shield is up."

Nods all round.

"Let's go."

*SGA*SPN*SGA*SPN*

Teyla narrowly missed crashing into Rodney as he and Zelenka ran around a corner. Startled, she gasped, "Rodney, what…"

"No time, sorry, sorry. Need to test this," he blurted, not stopping at all, a weary Zelenka on his heels. Frowning, but hoping their haste boded well for a solution on blocking the signal, Teyla called out after them. "Good luck!"

Neither replied. The central Tower was full of people, mostly refugees and it was an odd but pleasant sight to see clothing and colours outside of the usual Atlantis black and grey. Wallstreet had every able bodied person on some sort of production line, whether it was supplies, food or weapons, and even then, production was not keeping up with demand. Teyla reached the level she wanted and spotted Lorne and Wallstreet off to one side, their heads bent down over tablets, paper lists and various gadgets. Dodging strangers and familiar faces, Teyla joined them and they both looked up distractedly. "Ms Emmagen?" Wallstreet muttered while Evan smiled at her.

"The Dorada have been accommodated in Building AN. It's not ideal, but they are not complaining." She did not add the inevitable 'yet'. Wallstreet nodded and Lorne sighed, "Good, we're running out of livable space behind our defences. I nearly lost the entire east section last night because squad three broke a salt line." She nodded. "The Dorada will defend their area, once we give them some weapons."

"You looking for your next assignment?" Wallstreet mumbled, his eyes focused on his tablet and the flying screens as he scrolled through something. Teyla shook her head. "No, I'm relieving part of the Gate Response team shortly. I was just reporting in."

"Thought that was what radios were for," Wallstreet grunted.

"Yours is turned off." Teyla did not rise to the complaint or the attitude. Wallstreet was mercurial at best and temperamental at his worst.

"Shit!" Wallstreet cursed and thumbed his comm. back on, instantly wincing at the ruckus on the channel. "Forgot I was on civ 2. Shit. I turned Cooper off before I sent some Marines to shoot him."

"Most of us check civ 2 on a regular basis, hoping Rodney has found a solution."

"If McKay finds something, we'll all hear it," Lorne grinned. Nodding in agreement, Teyla touched Lorne's arm briefly before leaving. She wanted to check on Torren before her next shift.

*SGA*SPN*SGA*SPN*

As Dean stepped through the Gate horizon and arrived on New Boston, the first thing he heard was a Fugly screaming. Without hesitation but with some real effort, he extended his shield around the squad, Sheppard, Novak and Ronon. They all blinked and grunted in relief, several marines rubbing their temples. "Never getting used to that," Sheppard growled, his eyes tight with pain, radiating a steady mix of red and blue emotions.

For a planet in need of rescue, there were no signs of fleeing people or an ongoing battle. In fact, for what should have been the middle of the day, the sky was tainted in twilight and shadow. "I thought Chuck said…"

Sheppard trailed off, his expression hardening. It was day. Overhead a very wane sun was visible and the reason its light was so weak and the day so grey – the largest swarm of creatures they had encountered yet.

"What the hell?" a Marine snarled, his grip tightening on his stunner. Off in the distance, near the small town, they all heard a Fugly scream and the swarm blanketing the sky swirled in response. "So much for sunlight being our biggest advantage. How are they doing this?" Sheppard cried.

Cautiously, they moved away from the Gate, ready for an attack, but the immediate vicinity was quiet, eerily quiet. "This isn't a rescue anymore," Ronon said, eyes focused on the distant town.

"Nope, it's recon. We need to figure out how they are doing this. Daylight is the only relief we're getting. Move out. Scan for life signs and survivors." The squad all nodded and acknowledged Sheppard's command. Dean did his job, making sure they could all function under the strain of Fugly's presence. What was more concerning though – there was no sign of Fugly other than its scream.

Like most towns on Wraith farm-worlds, New Boston was a decent walk from the Gate, designed to give the locals time to flee a cull. This world's distinctive feature was its vegetation – an odd mix of spindly trees and spiky bushes with minimal foliage. New Boston was not on any 'must see' list back at Atlantis, and it was not a Coalition member. Wallstreet traded grains, vegetables and fruits with them for a cloth they made from the spindly, yet flexible bark from the trees. The path down to the town was wide enough to accommodate two carts and usually would have been busy with foot and cart traffic. Today, nothing. It was a quiet as a cull day. No birds, or local wildlife making sounds. Even the smaller creatures overhead were silent. Fugly's psychic scream was not audible per say, so naturally, Dean felt a rapid rise in tension in the squad the further they progressed. Silence was 99% of the time a bad thing.

The town, which was more of a village in Dean's estimation but by Pegasus standards it was a decent sized town was nestled in a valley, surrounded by vast forests of the staple trees which provided their income. With a population slightly in excess of ten thousand, there should have been some noise, some sign of life. Several old, roundish mountains rose to the east and west, providing an insipid backdrop to the town's vista. As the group descended into the valley, Sheppard hissed at Dean, "You picking up anything?"

"Just a Fugly," he replied. Sheppard did not look happy and was probably half a minute away from calling it and bugging out. But they needed to know what was going on. How were the monsters present during the day, and where were all the people?

Fortunately, the answer to one question became apparent quite soon. As buildings came into view, so did prone bodies. Lots of bodies. Sheppard sent two Marines ahead to check on a group close to the path. "They're unconscious, Colonel. Very slow, unsteady pulse. Can't rouse them."

"Get back here," Sheppard replied, clutching his P-90 tightly. Dean's own anxiety and fear was growing. Where in the hell was the Fugly? There was no doubt that there was one. He could feel it battering at his barrier. It wasn't as lethal or strong as the one on the Pier, or Dean was adjusting to the strain of psychic attacks. But those shits were massive, big enough to dwarf buildings on Atlantis. Where was it hiding? New Boston had zero skyscrapers and the mountains were too far away for the thing to be hiding there. Better question, why was it hiding? The swarm overhead had not reacted to their presence, and even though they had all kept a careful eye on it, watching the slightest indication of an attack, the sky remained densely packed with the creatures.

In fact, was it getting darker?

"We should leave, now," Novak said loudly, turning to scan the forest as he spoke.

Sheppard nodded, "Yeah, this is as creepy as hell. Something's not right." The sense of impending doom deepened and without needing Sheppard's order, the group halted, several members of the squad taking a step back. Was it too late? Was the trap sprung?

Dean felt nothing. No spike of anticipation, no real hate from the Fugly – or more hate than usual. "Back to the Gate, now. Double time." Sheppard's voice shook, fear lacing through. Dean strengthened his barrier, just in case they were being influenced. Was this a mistake? Nonetheless, at a faster, almost headlong pace with no sign of any threat, the Atlanteans fled, running along the path, their boots pounding on the soil, the sole beat of life on the planet surface.

Clearing the valley, the Gate in view, they picked up their pace, casting the odd look behind them, faces flushed, and hearts pounding. Lagging a little, Dean slowed, his fear spiking suddenly, curling around his belly, weakening his legs. "Stop!" he shouted, coming to a dead halt himself.

Sheppard dropped to his knee instantly, P-90 raised at an unseen threat, and the others all swiftly complied, falling into a standard cover position, poised to respond, Dean at their centre. In response, not one but two Fuglies appeared, looming over the StarGate like monstrous sentries. Where they appeared from and how they had been hiding was a real worry, but on the scale of things to be shit scared about, their ability to appear at will was no 2. No 1 was 'Oh shit, there's two of them.'

No portal, no slow emerge, no thunderstorm. In unison, the pair attacked, one stepping over the Gate in one stride, both screaming. Long tentacles grew from their oval sightless heads, arcing towards the group, pulsing with a dark energy. Dean might have been able to one Big Boss on his own, but there was no way he could handle two.

A torrent a sheer, vile hatred crashed over him, hammering his barrier, hammering them all. Sheppard and Ronon screamed, clutching their heads, blood pouring from their noses and ears. A Marine passed out, more fell to their knees. Dean buckled, crashing to his own knees, stunner forgotten, and weapons useless. Only Novak returned fire, a pathetic spray of bullets, followed by a lonely holy water balloon. The lone missile landed on one head, long twisty lines on the mottled skin smoking as the water burnt it. A snowflake in hell made more of a difference.

Overhead, Dean's mental made physical shield shone, a bright silver dome. Without it, they would have fallen unconscious in an instant. Dean screamed as another flood of horrific emotional barrage hit, shards of pain piercing his mind. Hands in his hair, Dean felt like he was trying to keep his head from exploding and spraying the others in grey matter. Sheppard was moving, barely, trying to do something. Ronon was grimly trying to get to his feet, raising his gun, his arm shaking with the effort. Towering over them, the massive creatures closed the distance, long tentacles battering the barrier dome. Fully emerged from whatever hell dimension they came from, they looked like a child's drawing of an alien horse. Oval head, no eyes, no mouth. Long neck to a skinny torso which ballooned out near the base. Multiple legs, six in total grew from the torso, more insect like in spacing, with no discernible joints or muscles. Wings that blocked out, even more, the paltry daylight arced over the back, leathery and heavy.

Tears streamed down Dean's face as the barrage continued, unrelenting. He had no opportunity to attack, no ability to even try draw electricity to strike. Without a ready thunderstorm, he needed time to draw his own power and everything he had was being pumped into the shield. The tentacles were powerful, heavy as they struck, but it was the constant unending screams which were the true enemy. The closer the beasts came, the louder it grew, the more intense. A sick sense of victory flooded through the monsters, twisting the hatred, the anger. They were pissed, so very very angry. They were angry at him, Dean Winchester. They had been looking for him.

Biting off his own scream, Dean snarled, his head the true battleground. The things hated life, hated light, hated everything, but they really, really hated him. Hissing, Dean whispered more than spoke, "Yeah, I killed your buddy." He poured that emotion, that satisfaction, that delight into the shield. He poured every positive emotion he could, drawing on the raw determination to defend his friends, his home. "And I'm going to kill you."

A shaky hand clapped his leg, and Dean _felt_ Sheppard more than heard him. "Don't give up." Ronon, incredibly was on his feet, next to Novak and the two idiots were firing at the oblivious monsters. "I can't hold this... we can't stay here," Dean hissed at Sheppard.

Struggling to rise, struggling to think, Sheppard nodded. "No shit."

Dean dug deep, plumbed the depths of his ability. It was pointless tapping into the dark memories of his past now, these things outweighed his memories of the yellow eyed demon, his mom, Sam. It had to be positive emotions. Memories of the past, of Earth, were too tainted. Thoughts of the Impala were coloured by sorrow, regret. Sam was a riot of anger, fear, disappointment and heartache. His Dad was a black hole of complex, dark emotions. No, he had to mine happier memories, positive relationships. The very idea of T&E and Andrews was a certain disaster. The problem was, as much as he loved living on Atlantis, he didn't exactly have years' worth of happy, uplifting memories.

"Use Sheppard's."

Blinking back tears, Dean stared up at Novak, who was glancing at him, even as he fired. "Use Ronon's. Use mine."

What? "What?" Dean stammered. The Private just smiled, and it was such a surprise, Dean nearly faltered. "You can do this, Dean Winchester."

It felt like he was risking his head flying apart, but Dean reached for Sheppard's arm. The Colonel was groaning on his knees next to him, fumbling with the remote DHD McKay had built. With no time to ask, no time to warn him, Dean _connected,_ his hand hot and hard on Sheppard's bicep. As a rule, Dean avoided touching people. Sex was different, as he rode the waves of both his and his partner's pleasure. Hell, sex as an empath was flippin' awesome. Purposeful, deliberate contact with anyone, let alone a kinetic was the stuff of Dean's nightmares. Dean didn't rip, he didn't demand. He simply opened up to John Sheppard and let the man in.

A different, but no less powerful flood of emotions struck him. Rather than resist, Dean re-directed the flood into the shield and strengthened it. Sheppard was frightened, terrified, yet he was strangely calm. He shot Dean a startled look, as he no doubt _felt_ Dean in return, but holy hell, this guy was an ocean of sheer will and gritted determination. Deep complex emotions swirled through Dean: love and affection, friendship, family, home and a place to call his own, accompanied by the willingness to kill to defend, long nights spent alone, abandoned, forgotten and then found, loved, wanted. John Sheppard's heart filled Dean's mind and his tears turned from ones of pain to an outpouring of that love.

Above them, the torrent of negative, vile hate intensified. Dean closed his eyes, more to hide from John's startled expression so he _felt_ the others in the group recover, _felt_ them clamber to their feet, _felt_ them fight back. Eyes shut tight, he gasped, "Get the Gate open."

Sheppard didn't need to be told twice. Whether by luck or providence, the DHD worked and one of the Fuglies was standing right in the path of the opening wormhole as the Gate engaged. It's' scream changed from hate to pain, and it staggered away. It was hurt, the splash had severed a leg, but it was still standing. Black ichor rained down on them, and the shield did nothing to stop it. The temporary boost from Sheppard was enough to get Dean on his feet. With the Gate open they had a chance.

"Run, I'll keep them off us." It was hard to tell if he spoke or _projected_ the words but Sheppard shouted an order and they staggered forward. It was a good couple hundred feet to the Gate and two seriously pissed off monsters were in their way. Novak grabbed Dean arm and hauled him along, and the group inched forward. By some miracle, the Fuglies were not interested in squashing them flat, which was weird, because one good blow the massive legs would have ended it. Instead, the Big Boss creatures upped the psychic attack, wailing on Dean's shaky shield. Dodging legs thicker than redwood trees and almost as tall, the small beleaguered group wove through and under the Fuglies. Dean touched his face briefly, wiping away tears and was startled to note that it was blood, not water. Novak was steady beside him, a calm pulse of confidence and Sheppard's connection remained true. Despite that bolstering him, Dean was fading, his energy tapped out and he was fighting to keep the shield strong enough.

They closed on the Gate, it was now only metres away but Dean was trailing the whole group, Novak dragging. The first Marine stepped through the horizon, and then another. No doubt fearing that their prey would escape, the Fugly closest to the Gate, the one the splash had eviscerated aimed a clumsy kick at the Ancient device. It was big enough that the blow landed and the Gate shook.

"Run!" Sheppard screamed. Dozens upon dozens of tentacles rained down, bouncing off the silver barrier, and Dean screamed too. All of the Marines slipped through the wormhole and then it was just Ronon, who was firing at the tendrils, Novak, Sheppard and Dean. Fugly 1 kicked at the Gate and it fell over, luckily falling over Ronon, who disappeared into the wormhole. Sheppard narrowly missed being knocked out and cried out, "Come on!" he stepped towards the Gate, the towering Fuglies whirling on them, more and more tentacles emerging.

Abruptly, Sheppard misstepped and fell into the Gate, disappearing back to Atlantis. The shock of their connection severing was enough to drop Dean, who now bereft of that support collapsed. The shield shattered and Dean screamed as dozens of tentacles struck his mental shields, their physical forms falling around him. Only one tentacle actually touched, a heavy blow to one of his legs but it enough to utterly shatter his concentration.

The ocean of hatred which engulfed Dean scattered his consciousness and he felt like he was falling to the bottom, drowning under the onslaught. Movement was impossible, all he could do was fall.

The Fuglies triumph was pulsating through the attack, vicious delight at his pain, his defeat. Dean writhed through the pain, trying and failing to escape. As fast as he tried to gather a barrier, beat back the hatred, the anger, more poured through, battering him, beating him senseless. The world was dark, and pulsating, all light gone. Into the blackness, Dean howled in agony.

"Enough!"

In the distance, as if miles away, a voice roared. A pinprick of light grew, a single brilliant candle that swelled, and grew and grew until black became grey and grey white. Dean couldn't see what it was or who, but the voice echoed again. "You cannot have him!"

Dim blue sky appeared and Dean blinked up at Private Jimmy Novak who was frigging glowing. Above them both, the Fuglies were screaming and Novak brightened. Dazed and very confused, Dean watched as if in slow motion, an enormous leg crashed down on Novak. The guy dodged the blow, but too slowly and it landed, knocking him flying. As his light flew off with him, Dean rolled over, trying to get to his feet. He glanced up and saw Novak on his feet, and running towards the Fuglies, a sword in his hands. Say what now?

A light so bright it hurt his eyes arced up the sky and scattered, broke the haze of creatures. Pure, brilliant sunlight streamed down a golden spear of hope. Dean grinned, as he heard and felt the creatures die, scream in pain. Above, the screen of creatures was collapsing, burning up as glorious sunlight breached their wall. Dean staggered his feet and did not see the tentacle that grabbed him, wrapping itself around his chest, pinning his arms.

Its touch was horrific, as putrescent hatred, disgust and wrath wrapped around him. Vaguely he heard Novak cry out and then he was pulled, pulled back into something dark and cold and the long, golden spear of sunlight vanished.

*SGA*SPN*SGA*SPN*

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Authors note: That's it. No more apologies. Well, no more apologies after this apology: I'm sorry it's taken so long to post this update. I could bore you with details of RL and writers block and broken laptops but I won’t. Instead, I shall say: Good News! Fear not because this fic is finished! Yep. Done and dusted, conclusion written, chapters done and only in need of checking and refining.  
> I’ll post chapters every week, with enough time in between for beta-work. Yes, my patient, long suffering readers. This fic is finished.   
> *drum roll*
> 
> Oh, ah: Quick question: What are your feelings about exposition heavy, lots of dialogue only chapters? Chapter 9 is very dialogue intense and usually authors break up those kind of chapters with cuts to other characters and their activities. As a reader I don't like that as I feel it's distracting but perhaps that's just me. What do you think?


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Here be whump. Ye have been warned.  
> I like whump. I miss whump. So I whumped Dean a lot because I haven't whumped him or anyone for a while. In addition, the warning includes a heads up for tentacles, kinda gross stuff and more tentacles. There are no non/con elements, or anything like that but there is a lot of whump caused by tentacles, teeth and claws. If you get icked out by whump and mentions of blood and gore… perhaps skip to the end.  
> Gentle reminder, this fic is AU from season 3 of SPN. Dean never went to hell and these events are essentially occurring during what would have been seasons 5 and 6 (more in 6) of SPN. Obviously there was no pre-apocalypse events, no hell, no purgatory, no hell cage for Sam, no mark of Cain, none of that. Dean has not experienced another dimension before, and even if his time at T&E was hellish this is his first time in an actual hell dimension.  
> On that note: Bring on the whumpage!

*SGA*SPN*SGA*SPN*SGA*SPN*

Sheppard landed in the Gate Room and crashed into Ronon. He hated falling into wormholes as the exit on the other side was always awkward, if not painful. The intense mental pain cause by the Fugly attack was blessedly gone and he rolled to one side, not wanting Winchester and Novak to land on him as they exited. Ronon grunted, "You ok?" Sheppard nodded, his head pounding but uninjured.

He stared back at the Gate, its watery blue surface rippling expectantly. Four long seconds ticked by and then, the wormhole disengaged. The Gate Room returned to normal lighting and Sheppard barked, "Chuck!"

"It closed on their side, Colonel." Chuck's voice cracked as he shouted back, but John did not turn around to look at the man. He nearly ordered an immediate dial back, but if Winchester was trying to re-dial from their side, the last thing they needed as incoming wormhole trapping them with two Fuglies. So they waited. Chuck automatically alerted the response team, and Teyla and her squad ran in several minutes later. "Colonel, are we going back?" Despite their obvious weariness, Teyla and her team were armed and ready to rock.

Torn, but needing to do something, Sheppard nodded. "Yes, dial New Boston now, Chuck." If Winchester or Novak hadn't dialled back by now….

More response teams arrived in the Gate Room, a mix of normal Gate team members and marines. Several guys were carrying packs crammed with holy water grenades and trays to use as shields. Sheppard keyed his comm. "This is the Colonel. Are there any empaths in the City? I need anyone who can project a shield. We're going after Winchester on New Boston."

As the Chevrons light up, Chuck called it in. 'Chevron 7 engaged.'

"Isn’t the Gate lying flat?" Ronon barked, and Shepard nodded. "We'll have to climb out." Behind him, Sanchez confirmed to the teams that horizontal gate exit procedure was required. A few people groaned, as it was always tricky trying to exit a horizontal Gate.

As the wormhole engaged, Boyd ran into the Gate Room, struggling with his gear. Sheppard greeted him with, "Two Fuglies. We just need to snatch up Winchester and Novak." Boyd's expression was as grim and frightened as Sheppard felt.

"I'll do my best, sir."

Sheppard nodded. It would have to do.

Exiting the Gate on New Boston was the first surprise. The Gate was upright and Sheppard nearly fell down the small flight of stairs as he went low and launched himself out of the horizon. "What the hell?" he shouted as he stumbled to a halt. Teyla radioed in the change in Gate exit procedure and the rest of the rescue team were spared an awkward landing.

The next surprise was more pleasant but nevertheless worrying. A crystal clear blue sky welcomed them to New Boston. Teyla was ordering her team to fan out and search for Winchester because that was the last and worst surprise. There was no sign of Dean or Novak. The only good news was a distinct lack of Fuglies and any creatures overhead. The day was bright and sunny, a small yellow sun climbing towards midday and not a single portal or monster in sight. That good news soured fast when it became abundantly clear that Winchester and Novak were nowhere in sight.

Ronon and Teyla scattered with various squads to expand the search area, their voices raised, calling for Dean. Squinting up at the sun, John felt sick. The moment Dean had touched him and seemingly tapped into his emotions to bolster the shield had caused a mutual exchange of emotions. Dean's emotional state had been exactly as expected, terrified and exhausted. Sheppard hadn't fought the strange sensation of the connection as a sense of Dean's nature flooded him and all in all, it had felt very… normal. Standing there under a sky free of monsters, Sheppard had a moment to sort through that sensation.

Dean Winchester projected all the emotions of a young man who was far from home but happy to be on Atlantis – somewhere new and exciting. Yet, through that contentment was the sense of someone who yearned for connection, for safety but had no idea how to actually achieve that. The yearning echoed through his heart, through his being.  They had not really been connected all that long, what with the rush for the Gate, but Sheppard had picked up a deep fear, a gnawing pain about being left behind, abandoned as they all ran. That fear resonated with him in a way he found uncomfortable and all too familiar. No one liked being left behind. John though as he stared at field bereft of any indication that Dean Winchester had even been there felt in his bones that Winchester did not function well alone. He needed people, he liked people. He needed to belong.

Unsettled and afraid, Sheppard stared out across the very Winchester-empty area and sighed, "Shit."

*SGA*SPN*SGA*SPN*SGA*SPN*

Every now and then Bobby and his Dad had talked about Hell. Capital H, capital ELL. They had debated on whether Dante's "Inferno" was metaphorical or based on reality. At the time, the debate was theoretical of course. After the crash and his Dad's death, Dean had thought about Hell a lot, about what his Dad was experiencing. Was he finding out that Bobby was right and Hell was not seven levels of increasing torment? Those thoughts, fears and imaginings had torn at his brain, causing more than one sleepless night. Mercifully, when he killed the Yellow-eyed Demon his Dad had escaped Hell. There had been no time for a cliff notes summary of what Hell was like. Nope. Just enough time to say goodbye and hope that his Dad found heaven.

Sam had suggested that they ask Ruby when that bitch appeared offering her help in catching Lilith. There had been no way that Dean was asking Ruby anything, other than to drop dead. He trusted her about as far as he could throw her and set her on fire. He didn't actually want to know what Hell was 'really' like, thank you very much.

So while he wasn't 100% sure what Hell was like, Dean was just about certain that he wasn't in 'the' Hell, but he sure as hell as in 'a' Hell. Maybe each galaxy had their own Hell and this was Pegasus's? No fires of damnation, no tormented souls, no demons, no wailing. Nothing like that.

When Dean came to, and awareness flooded in, he opened his eyes to darkness.

It was not completely pitch black and like New Boston, the lighting was more very dim twilight than night. Grey enough make out shapes and a general impression of the area, but dark enough that it was difficult to see, unable to get a good idea of his immediate surroundings. It wasn't cold nor hot, it was just on the edge of too cold, chilly, uncomfortable. The air felt dank and damp and as he sat up, the rock or whatever under his hands was cool and uneven. It was hard to make out if he was sitting on a rock or something else. It felt hard and gritty, but unlike stone or rock. Fortunately, he appeared to be alone. The last thing he remembered was the crushing grip of the Fugly's tentacle. Gingerly he touched his chest and winced. He was bruised for sure, and perhaps a rib or two were cracked. It hurt to breathe, and the air felt thick, but on the whole, he seemed ok. Or as ok as one could be when trapped in a literal hell hole.

With some difficulty, Dean climbed to his feet. He felt weak and shaky like he normally did after strenuous empathic effort. Combined with the physical exhaustion of four days of running battles, too little food and sleep and now cracked ribs, Dean felt about as good as shit. Top of his to do list was finding a way out. If he was in the same place the beasties came from, and they could portal into reality, there was a small chance he could escape the same way. Bracing himself, Dean limped forward. Any direction was as good as another, so forward it was. What was puzzling, but another good sign, was that if the Fugly had brought him here, why had he woken up alone? This space seemed too small for the Fulgies to live in it. The low ceiling and narrow walls felt more like a tunnel or cave, what little he could make out of it. Head aching, he took a step forward, one hand braced on the wall to steady himself.

Something had happened just before the Fugly grabbed him. Something about the Sun?  

Dean's train of thought trailed off as a horrific notion hit him. What if he was inside the Fugly? Scanning the area, Dean gulped. The cave, if that was what it was, seemed too big for the inside of the Fugly. Weren't stomachs usually all icky and gross, with fluids and digestive juices? Gagging at the idea, Dean pressed on, hoping to find some sign that he was not about to be digested. If it had eaten him, then there was still a way out – if it had a mouth it had an ass… it didn't have a mouth, did it? Dean held tight to the idea that no mouth and no acidic juices meant he wasn't in a stomach. Yet.

Dismissing those thoughts, Dean walked on, one hand pressed against the wall, the other holding his ribs, trying to keep them from jostling. The cavern seemed to be widening, growing which he sensed rather than confirmed visually as the space opened up around him. There were no small rocks or jagged outcrops. In fact, the wall was fairly uniform bar for the odd bump here and there. Like it had been hollowed out by water and no debris had been left behind. The wall began to curve and then it abruptly ended. Through the gloom, Dean saw that he was at the mouth of a tunnel and it was opening out into an even larger cavern. Squinting, trying to make out the dim gloom ahead, Dean shuffled forward and caught himself in time as the floor disappeared beneath his feet. He barely noticed that, as instead, his attention was fixed on the enormous cavern that sprawled out before him. It wasn't a cavern, not really. No cave was that big. This was just space, a world bracketed by a grey ceiling and walls, covered in dim light. No stars, no sun, just twilight gloom, but it was opaque enough for Dean to see the denizens of this world.

A swarm so big he could not see it's edges writhed in the middle of the cavern, mid-air, a pulsing ball of disparate life. It filled the space, swirling and whirling like a maddened flock of demon-birds. Smaller creatures flew at the edges, with larger ones in the centre. At the base, standing on the surface of the deep cavern were the Fuglies. Hundreds of them. As a group the swarm didn't seem to be doing anything, just flying and standing around, waiting.

Waiting for what?

A stupid idiot human to just waltz right in?

Apparently so.

"Oh shit," Dean thought and as one, the swarm and Fuglies turned towards him, as if drawn by his unvoiced thought.

"Oh shit!" Dean cried out for real and ran for his life, back the way he had come.

It was no use. There was nowhere to run to, or hide. Just an ever narrowing tunnel and then… a dead end. Dean cursed, slamming his fist against the wall. The cave ended at a narrow point, smooth surface unyielding and unforgiving. Down the tunnel, the swarm barrelled, a shrieking horde of savage claws and teeth. Dean whirled and threw up a shield and it shimmered into place, shining in the dark, a bright silver manifestation of power. He braced himself, ready to fight to the bitter end. When the first creatures reached him, all teeth and claws yearning for his flesh, he hardened the barrier and the things flew right through it. Startled, Dean shouted and swung out a punch, catching the first monster full on, but it was instantly joined by hundreds. Psychic shields worked for shit against actual physical bastards.

Dean fought, pummeling and kicking, slamming the shrieking monsters into the floor and the walls, trying to keep them from his face and chest. Highly aware that he was going to be eaten alive, Dean tried to zap the beasts, shock them with electricity, fry them into dust. Nothing came when he summoned the electric power, the 'zap' that hummed in his blood. There was no time to think about why that was. Instead, the sheer number of creatures pressed him into the wall, and Dean screamed as the bastards overwhelmed his flailing limbs and teeth tore into his skin, and claws ripped and slashed at him. Oddly the creatures didn't stink, so all Dean could smell was his own blood as a rich copper filled the vicinity. He fought on, kicking and punching like a madman, but he was fighting an unending mass, a never-ending stream of diminutive monsters. As quick as he killed three or four, dozens more dived in, eager to taste his blood, more teeth replacing those he dislodged, more claws digging into his flesh as he flung others away.

The smaller monsters gave way to bigger beasts, ones with truly wicked claws and teeth and they shoved and clawed aside their own comrades to reach Dean. These monsters did not go down easily, a single punch barely phased them, and when they locked onto his exposed skin, they did not let go, gnawing and biting. Dean staggered back, crushing as many as he could against the wall, screaming as teeth ripped and shredded his skin and flesh. All he could see were wings, teeth, blue skin and claws. Some of the smaller ones were trying to claw into his mouth, ripping at his face. Uncaring, Dean bit back, and his mouth filled with foul blood. Undeterred, the blasted things kept trying to get inside him, fighting each other more than him, biting and squabbling. He was covered in creatures, big and small all crawling over him and he struggled to stay on his feet, struggled to fight on. In fact, by now he was fairly pinned against the wall, unable to move much as the horde pressed on him. Something bit into the skin on his exposed stomach and then there was more biting, chewing, ripping and Dean screamed. This was it, he was going down. Eaten alive.

Through the press of creatures the biggest flying monster yet clawed its way through to him, clawing its rivals out of the way. Dean screamed as more creatures ate into his stomach and something slipped into his mouth and choked him as it tried to climb down his throat, slicing his mouth and throat as it did. It was hard to see through the press, but he watched as the big beast reached him and Dean nearly choked on his defiance.

The big monster swatted its rivals off him, uncaring that it raked him with its claws, opening up long scores on his chest and arms. Doggedly, it cleared a space around him and most of the littler creatures fled, screaming, the sheer volume of bodies lessening. Some of the bigger ones did not let go, still grimly biting his arms and one even had his right hand in its mouth, happily chewing. The big new comer pulled off more of the little ones, pulling out the ones tearing into his intestines and pried out the one in his mouth. A heavy weight landed on Dean’s chest as it landed, covering his torso, its claws piercing his skin. It gave Dean no chance to fight, to recover. It launched itself at him, knocked his head back and clamped its thick jaws around his throat. Cold teeth broke skin and Dean prayed it would be quick. He really didn't want to feel each bite as it ate him.

Snarling around its teeth, the big thing pulled and Dean fell forward, landing awkwardly on his knees. It pulled again, flapping its wings, beating back its competitors, and dragged him forward again. Dean struggled to stand, but the position it held him in made it impossible. He didn’t dare pull against the teeth locked around his throat so he ended up scrambling along with the thing as it dragged him towards the tunnel mouth. Behind him, the smaller monsters swirled and shrieked, a brave few darting down and landing on his back, clawing and biting.

It took a moment, a long pain-filled moment before Dean figured out what was happening. It was dragging him out of the tunnel entirelu, dragging him to the Fuglies. It was struggling, as it wasn't exactly designed to carry a person, so it was half-dragging, half flying him out of the cave, along with all the other creatures still clinging onto him. The jaws around his throat hurt, but so did the teeth slicing into his arms, hands, legs, and feet. Something was digging into his back, licking his blood as the big thing struggled to the entrance. Luckily they did not have far to go, but Dean figured this thing would not be able to carry him to the Fuglies, he was too heavy for it. Panic flooded his body, and he jerked against the teeth, uncaring that he might be ripping his own throat open.

As the larger cavern came into view, the cave mouth widening, a long tentacle snaked up over the edge. The creature growled, black ichor running out of its mouth. The tentacle reached for Dean, another edging upwards, barely visible. The moment it was close enough, the bigger creature dropped him and began tearing at the creatures still on his arms and legs. It did not have time to clear them all as the tentacle snaked forward and wrapped around Dean. It's touch was not as painful as before, but it still squeezed tightly and he wheezed, crying out as his ribs broke under the pressure. Trailing smaller beasts, many of whom were still trying to eat him, the Fugly carried him towards the centre of the cavern. Flying through the air, half-upside down, bleeding profusely, Dean groaned, his head swimming from the motion and the blood loss. It shook him and screamed in triumph, its hate tinged with excitement. The scream was muted like it was far away but the shaking hurt as more pressure crushed his chest. A few of the smaller creatures dropped off as the Fugly shook him.

Several screams and shakes later, Dean was free of the other smaller, bitey things and he only had to worry about the Fugly. Overhead the swarm whirled and shadowed its path to the others in the centre. 'You are shitting me, ' Dean thought. In the middle of the Fuglies stood the biggest one yet. How had he missed it before? It stood head and shoulders above the tallest Fugly. Similar in shape, this one's head was covered in tentacles, which danced around like a frigging crown. Somewhat unceremoniously, Dean was dropped on the floor from a height and he landed with a bone breaking thud. "Gah, f…" he spat, blood in his mouth, spots dancing in front of his eyes.

The second he hit the ground, a psychic bombardment pummelled him, and Dean painfully curled in on himself, trying to hide, holding his head, smearing blood everywhere writhing with pain. "Shit!" he screamed, already hoarse from before, hurting and now struggling to keep his mind intact. It was like New Boston only ten times worse, because there were ten more of the bastards. Try as he could, Dean was unable to hold his mental shield and it shattered. Pain far worse than anything a Kinetic had caused surged through him, and he collapsed into blackness.

*SGA*SPN*SGA*SPN*SGA*SPN*

Normally the long-suffering members of the science department and various Gate teams avoided “tired-cranky-overly-caffeinated” Rodney McKay the same way one would avoid a contagion, or an angry ex-partner or a rampaging tiger with haemorrhoids. Rodney was rather proud of this reputation, as physically he was not generally able to intimidate anyone, not even children, and while he was intellectually superior in so many ways, most people failed to respect that until they needed him to save the planet.

On day four of constant pressure, terror and demands to figure out how to stop the portals from opening and trace the signal, Rodney Meredith McKay had reached new heights of crankiness, and was contemplating asking Jennifer to hook him up to a IV, preferably one filled with real coffee, but he'd settle for a banana bag.

The source of the signal was not only elusive, it was frigging diabolical as it defied all efforts to isolate it. On day two of the attacks, a bleary-eyed Zelenka had postulated that the signal had similar qualities to the readings the SGC had noted during events involving Daniel Jackson's ascension and other ascended beings. Considering that the SGC had never been able to trace or track that energy beyond a general 'it's not in our reality', McKay called Zelenka a pessimistic flat-earth idiot, and refused to concede that the signal was defying their abilities.

While McKay was utterly determined to succeed where the SGC had failed and discover a way to trace extra-dimensional energy and readings, the sad reality was that he was running out of ideas, energy and willing assistance. Half of the science department were deployed elsewhere, helping the Gate teams, enhancing weapons with Wallstreet for more effective monster killing and making food, and the other half were either asleep at their stations or arguing about whether Dungeons and Dragons the cartoon could be related to Narnia as both worlds were accessed by unusual portals.

Rodney was about to break up the interesting, but pointless discussion with a tirade, and he had picked up a coffee cup, ready to aim it at Green's head, when Sheppard ran into the make-shift lab. Snatching the cup out of his hand, Sheppard hauled Rodney off his butt-numbing stool and said, "Come on, gear up. Winchester is missing."

One of the few people immune to the McKay-glare-1000, Sheppard steadied Rodney as his legs wobbled. McKay yawned a complaint, "How,… what I am supposed to do about… I have work to do!"

"You need a break and I need your brain and scanners." John was walking McKay out of the room as they spoke and Rodney was too tired to really protest. Mildly curious and probably in need of a break, McKay sighed, noting Ronon and Teyla hovering nearby. "What, missing? Winchester is missing? How?"

Without looking at McKay, still striding down the corridor, one hand clutching the front of his shirt, John replied, "We think the creatures took him. Dragged him into a portal. Private Novak too."

Rodney ripped himself free, whirled around and ran straight into Ronon's broad chest. "Oh, no no, no, if those things are sucking people into pools of death, I'm…"

"He needs your help," Ronon growled and McKay rolled his eyes. "Fine".

*SGA*SPN*SGA*SPN*SGA*SPN*

 

Waking up was a bitch, mostly because Dean hoped he wouldn't wake up. He was dragged to consciousness quite literally, as a tentacle hauled his inert form towards the Biggest Ugliest Fugly Ever. The others had backed off and the barrage of psychic blasts was over. Mission accomplished, his shield was down and to the biggest and baddest go the spoils, right?

Dean was in pretty awful shape, and his clothing was a testament of that alone. His usual attire, a mix of cast-off BDUs, and hand-me downs were shredded, hanging in bloody tatters and pieces. Big Fugly was leaving a trail of bloody material behind Dean as it dragged him closer, and his skin was only moderately less ripped and torn. The swarm had really dug into him, slicing and dicing as they went and if nothing else, he was probably going to bleed to death from all the deep slashes and bites. He struggled uselessly trying to find some purchase on the ground but was too even and smooth. Along with the trail of shredded clothing, he was leaving a long disturbing path of blood on the ground. Most of the blood was coming from the hole in his stomach and the little bastards had really done a number there, with muscle and intestine exposed in parts, all smeared with blood and pieces of clothing.

Big Fug stopped pulling when he was close enough and loomed down at him. Its 'face' was as blank and featureless as the others, just bigger. Long lines crisscrossed its blue-grey mottled skin in no discernible pattern, and it almost looked like scars. It was the tentacles though that really upped the ick factor, swirling around its head like dispossessed sea creatures. It moved wrong, jittery and sticklike as if it had no joints, like it was just muscle and tissue crammed into a sack. Its wings hung limply at its side, dead and useless.

Dean sought for a flippant quip and failed. So he went with, "Whatcha looking at, shithead?" His voice was rough and coarse, his words lost in the constant shriek and screams of the swarm. It seemed to be studying him, and he could _feel_ its power poking and prodding at his empathy. Without his shield, Dean would have expected that to hurt, but it didn't. It felt... distant. Like something brushing against his skin, faint and weak. Confused, Dean frowned. Had his shield been the problem? Was it trying to communicate and now that his shield was gone, it didn't hurt?

He quickly dismissed that idea. The shits had been screaming at him for days, their intention very clear – I hate you, I'm going to nuke your mind. This? This was different and different wasn't good. Big Fug was massive, like building massive. Its legs were gigantic and it towered over him, a good ten stories high, he guessed. The tentacles ranged in thickness from as wide as his arm to as wide as a car. Some of the tentacles were slapping at other Fuglies, almost on their own accord, others were batting at the swarm, which dodged them. Dean came face to face with one of the thinner ones as it darted down towards him, unerringly. It reached him quickly and brushed along his chest, touching him here and there.

"Hey! Keep your damn..." he shoved it away shakily and whamo, he was flat. Squished like a bug, pressed so hard against the floor that he couldn't move. At all. Only, the Fugly hadn't moved an inch. Just one of its legs could have done the squishing job easily, but no, it was using its psychic power to pin him down. It felt like there was weight, making it impossible to move, but he could still breathe, still blink, still curse. Pulling at the force pinning him hurt his ribs and Dean cried out. Unconcerned, the tentacle continued its exploration, touching various parts of him, dabbing at his head a lot, then his chest before settling on his stomach. It seemed very interested in his wound and Dean's heartbeat quickened as it's poking turned hard. "Oh no, asshole, don't even think about it."

It did more than think.

Even though he anticipated the movement, it still caught him off-guard at how suddenly it twisted and dug into the wound, burying itself through the shredded skin and muscle.

There was no helping it. Dean screamed.

It hurt. Whatever the hell it was doing to him, it hurt. Deep and throbbing, urgent and hot, it hurt. It wasn't eating him, that was certain, but nothing else was. The tentacle was burrowing through the hole in his side, shoving aside organs, tissue and muscle. It seemed to be searching as it dug around, filling up the very limited space that was inside him. One moment his lungs were being flattened and he was coughing, gagging, dying then something touched his heart and Dean shuddered, sweat breaking out on his skin. He felt it brush against his rib cage, and collar bone, a thick snake in a china shop. Broken ribs being poked from the inside hurt even worse. Having something move through you like this was just plain wrong, and damn painful. Throughout it all he screamed, unable to move, unable to fight. If it was searching, it was failing to find anything, judging by how rapidly it was moving now. Big Boss Fugly was frustrated, angry – it wasn’t succeeding. Dean gasped and coughed as it plunged past his lungs again, squeezed organs and just generally thoroughly tortured him. Unable to escape, his scream was cut off as it crushed his lungs again. Why wasn't this killing him?

Abruptly it was gone, the tentacle was out. Dean opened his eyes to see it dancing in front of his face like it was complaining, unhappy. Still unable to move, pinned by its psychic pressure, Dean snarled at it. It punched him. Well, it hit him in the face and the blow was considerable, but it felt like a punch. Then it wrapped itself around his head and squeezed. Unable to articulate anything other than a groan, Dean gritted his teeth and closed his eyes. It pulled and squeezed for a while, twisting his head this way and that. It let go abruptly and Dean fell back with a cry. The tentacle landed on his forehead and pushed. That itself wasn't too painful, but the rest of his body was awash with hurt, so who cared. What was more interesting was the psychic power behind the push on his forehead. Again Dean felt the distant touch of power to his ability, again very faint, very weak. The physical connection was very real and very painful, but its power was not connecting to his.

So it screamed and so did Dean.

The psychic scream still hurt like a bitch and it washed over his brain like fire. Reeling from the shock of feeling that unshielded, exposed, Dean shuddered, eyes rolling back into his head. Again the tentacle tapped at his head insistently and again the core of his ability was brushed with the lightest of touches. As much as he hurt, Dean laughed around the blood in his mouth. "You can hurt me, but you can't get it, huh?"

Booming psychic power pulsed over him. Fury, anger, hatred, frustration. It hated him so much, it wanted him to feel pain, wanted him to … wanted him to what? Dean couldn't grasp that emotion, couldn't quantify it. With no words, no language, its demands were futile. Dean had no idea how he was resisting, but resisting he was – or they were just incompatible for whatever it wanted.

Big Fugly retracted the tentacle and its head moved towards the other ones. It seemed like they were talking to each other. There was tentacle waving if that was talking and Dean could pick up some odd emotions and what felt like battles of psychic power, vying for dominance. Perhaps talking was the wrong concept perhaps they were fighting, or arguing. The Big Boss turned its attention back to Dean. He gulped but did not move mostly because he couldn’t but also because he didn't want to give it a reason to hurt him more. His chest and insides felt torn up and bruised. He was probably bleeding internally – most definitely he was.

A delightful torrent of wrath bore down on him, and Dean winced. The anger was accompanied by another emotion, a command. Dean squinted, trying to understand through the pain. It felt like expectation or annoyance. Either way, he narrowed his eyes, ignoring the pain from dozens of cuts on his face, his split lips and busted up body. Once it had his attention, Big Fug raised its thick tentacles, the ones bigger than Dean’s entire body and it lashed out at another Fugly, a smaller one. The tentacles struck and … dug into the other Fugly’s head. ‘Ew’ Dean thought. As gross as it watching one Fugly ‘tentacle’ another, what was weirder was the exchange of power. While he hadn’t really given it much thought, he knew on an instinctive level that these buggers were not empaths or kinetics. Using the word ‘psychic’ to describe their power to cause pain, project emotion and overwhelm human minds was just a convenient label for their weird alien shit. They had no words, but sure as hell could communicate. They had no eyes or mouths, but it seemed that they could eat and that was what the Big Fug was doing. Eating the smaller one. Sucking its power, syphoning it off. Dean could feel the exchange, could sense it but it felt distant, unreal, like the odd touches. As Big Bugger ate, Dean noticed that the swarm were turning on each other too, bigger creatures climbing into smaller ones, eating them, sucking them dry. Was that what they were trying to do in Pegasus, suck out humanity’s life and power? ‘Great.’

Dean sighed. He's figured it out and now knew exactly what Big Fug was trying to do. It was trying to eat him, to eat his empathic power and it couldn’t figure out how to do it. It was showing him what it wanted. Showing him so that he gave in. Let it absorb his ability.

“Screw that,” Dean hissed, both because he had no idea ‘how’ to give in, let alone a willingness to do so. This, however, did not bode well for the rest of his time in this hell. Fug would dig around his insides until it killed him. Eventually. The Big Bad finished eating, and the smaller Fug was even smaller now, and it, in turn, struck some of the bigger creatures in the swarm, eating them as its tentacles made contact. So the cycle continued.

Light filled the cavern, a glowing sickly blue light. Dean recognised it – a portal. Its source was the cave where he had landed at first. So that was why the portals started out small and grew. A portal was opening and the frenzied swarm dove for the portal, a couple of Fuglies moving as well. Another attack on another helpless planet. Seeing it from this side did not make it any easier. It must be night somewhere or it was just time to feed.

Dean fought against the pressure keeping him in place, certain that he could use a portal to escape too, but there was no moving. Big Fug thundered loudly, a long scream of hate and anger. The little ones ate people, the big Fugs ate them and ate each other. A fabulous frigging circle of life.

Big Fug turned its attention back to Dean, who growled as its alien mind assaulted his. In a battle of empathic power versus alien mind force, Dean stood a chance – a small one sure, but a chance. It could overwhelm him when it screamed but it couldn’t seem to take his power. Buoyed a little bit by that thought, Dean lashed out the only way he could – he met hate with hate. He projected his own wave of hate and fear, gritted human determination laced with contempt and pride. It was a bucket of water against a flood.

Surprisingly, that tiny attack landed a hit. The Fugly reeled back as he struck, its scream breaking up.

"No way," Dean gasped. In retrospect though, his defiance was a mistake.

Recovering, it screamed at him, turning a flood into a waterfall so thick, so vile that Dean nearly passed out. Again. Alas, for him, he didn't.

*SGA*SPN*SGA*SPN*SGA*SPN*

“Run,” Charlie screamed as her team ran for the Gate. They had barely arrived on New Athos with the handful of Athosians who had needed to return for supplies. A sky full of creatures blocking out the sun was the first sign of ‘oh, I’m getting a bad feeling,’ and Lt. Matthews had dialled the Gate for a wormhole instantly.

At first, in that heart beat between ‘Erk’ and ‘Oh Shit’ Charlie had wondered if they had time to reach the Gate before something awful happened. It was then, naturally, that the Fugly appeared, stepping out of gloom into the half-light. It’s scream was shocking and painful and Charlie’s shield barely held, but she held it.

“Run!” Most of the team and the Athosians were through the Gate already and Matthews was waiting for her, unwilling to leave her behind.

The second scream sent her sprawling, shield shattering around her. Charlie gasped, clinging onto consciousness and felt Matthews snatch her up, his arms hard and strong. The relief of the wormhole was cold and wonderful and they stumbled into the Gate Room.

“Thanks,” she sighed and Matthews nodded. “What the hell? How are they blocking out the sun?”

The Gate Room was busier than usual with loads of extra people standing around. Teyla was on response and her expression was grim. The others in the room were radiating tension and fear. Charlie did not shrug off Matthew’s assistance as he helped her to stand. “Wonder what’s going on?”

Sgt Sanchez was nearby and heard her. His reply was gritty and his voice was hoarse as he said, “A fugly took Winchester.”

“What?”

His nod belied the roil of grief and fear that was raging through him. “Yep, snatched him up and the eggheads can’t find him. Sheppard even dragged McKay to New Boston to scan frequencies and shit.”

“But how?” Charlie stammered, fear at her own narrow escape warring with worry for Dean.

Sanchez shook his head. “No idea. But now the Colonel is talking about evaccing civilians to Earth. If the Fuglies can block out the sun…”

Matthews finished the fear-born thought, “They could attack us next and Winchester isn’t here to stop them.” Charlie felt zero offence at being discounted as able to stop a Fugly. She knew she couldn’t and Dean had only managed to do so with her and the other Empaths’ help.

“Shit.”

*SGA*SPN*SGA*SPN*SGA*SPN*

Reeling from the onslaught of the psychic attack, thoughts scattered, brain feeling like it was sludge, Dean groggily glared up Big Fugly. "That the best you got?" he slurred. The thin tentacle struck his head hard, coming from nowhere and Dean grunted, sparks going off in his brain at the blow.

Maybe if he pissed it off enough, it’d kill him quickly, make a mistake with his frail human body and then… it would be over. Another few love taps like that and maybe he'd have a brain aneurysm. No one was coming, no one knew where he was. Dean was trapped all alone in a hell hole with zero chance of escaping. Even if he somehow managed to break free of Big Fugly's hold, the path back to the cave was long and blocked by hundreds of Fuglies. The only possible escape was death and Dean was ok with that. Better to die quick and messy then let Fugly slowly eat his power and whittle him away.

The tentacle hovered near him, shaking in fury. It was vibrating, and Dean vaguely felt the Fugly slashing at his ability again, uselessly. "Not working, asshole," he mumbled, blackness creeping up the edges of his vision. At first, he thought he was hallucinating when more tentacles appeared, thinner, smaller ones. Blinking, unable to clear his vision, Dean shook his head and the truth swam into view. Not more tentacles. The thin one was growing smaller ones out of its front end. Mutant fingers springing out of a mutant hand. 'Oh no,' was all Dean had time to think.

The tentacle plunged itself into his stomach again, burrowing deep. It shoved itself in, piling into him, and Dean bucked and writhed, unable to escape, screams aborted and broken. He knew he was screaming, but he couldn't hear it over the fire burning inside his chest. His whole existence crashed down into the exquisite pain of an alien worm splitting him open. Impaled like a bug, Dean fought for breath, for release on instinct – to escape the pain. While it was still burrowing the fingers began exploring and it got a whole lot worse.

Long tendrils carved new paths through him, and ran through muscles and joints, under his skin, along his bones. Horrified, Dean felt and saw the tendrils move under his skin, bulging and gripping, twisting. A couple broke through on his arms, waving little points to the air before pulling back inside. More dug into his lungs, his organs, down into his legs and feet. The invasion deepened, heightened, running the breadth and length of him. There was no way he was surviving this, Dean thought, he had to die, he just had to. Tendrils crawled up his throat from his lungs, choking him, strangling him, twisting up his spine. Unable to even scream now, Dean wailed as tendrils poked out of his tear ducts, his nose, his mouth, dug into his ears. Unable to breathe, unable to do anything but shudder and writhe, Dean's vision filled with red and black. Things got really weird when they reached his brain, as whole parts of his body lit up, died, flared and colours danced in kaleidoscope in his brain. If the bastard was succeeding in draining his ability, sucking up his empathy, Dean had no frigging clue. He was lost in a sea of pain, unable to distinguish between one pain and the next, lungs empty, heart thundering inside his chest. In complete and utter agony, he sent up a silent plea to whoever was listening, yearning for death. Unable to breathe, chest pounding and aching, a milky film filed his gaze, drawing him down into the dark and Dean let go, stopped fighting.

Momentarily free of pain, in the darkness he saw a pair of yellow eyes, a familiar face grinning at him. He was locked in place, unable to move, trapped. Yellow eyes shone from his Dad's face. Invisible claws sliced him open, playing with his heart. Sam was shouting, pleading.

He couldn’t see him though. All he could see was his Dad.

He tried to picture his big, goofy brother. Ridiculous hair flopping in his face, bitchface number two pasted on while he researched a case. Desperate, Dean _pushed,_ needing to see his brother. Like looking down a long hallway through cold water, he saw Sam slouching in a doorway, hair and face rumpled, glaring at Agent Gibbs. Sam was pissed but he was also pleased like he was saying 'I told you so.'

Confused, Dean blinked, and _pushed_ harder, trying to get closer. Abruptly, the vision disappeared and he was back, lost and alone in an enormous space filled with monsters. He was still in hell, still trapped by Fugly, but oddly enough, the pain was gone. Well, most of the pain was gone. He hurt still, but there were no tentacles playing hide and seek with his insides. The pain was muted, distant as the combination of shock and adrenaline kept him from feeling its full force. Confused and despairing, Dean looked up at Fugly. It was attacking another of its compatriots, venting its frustration that much was clear. It was still pissed, still hungry and Dean was a broken mess. Movement was impossible both because he hurt so much and the pressure was still active, so Dean leant his head back and pulled in ragged breaths, crying as his ribs protested, his heart raced and everything else groaned in a chorus of agony. Why was he still alive? How was he still alive?

Unable to draw a full breath, Dean choked and sobbed. Maybe it was impossible to die in Hell? Maybe the pain just got worse and worse until you broke and then the pain continued. Maybe he was dead already, his body back on New Boston and Fugly had ripped his soul out, and this was his fate? Grunting, screaming in an aborted fashion, Dean tried to pull free, tried to do something, anything. This couldn't be it. He'd escaped demons, kinetics, and snake aliens only to fall and end his existence as a frustrating snack for an interdimensional monster.

Gurgling on blood filling his mouth, Dean fell back the scant inches he could move his head and watched Fugly feed. 

Light from an incoming portal filled the cavern, but Dean ignored it. In response to the light, the swarm dived towards the entrance cave, their shrieks rising and falling in concert. 'Off to kill more people,' Dean thought sluggishly. Sheer exhaustion and despair seeped into his consciousness, making the cavern dark and oppressive. He spat out a mouthful of blood, choking a little. The swarm wailed and fought as it bunched above him, fighting to get to the portal. Big Fugly would return any moment to finish him off as slowly as possible. He started a little as a thunderous boom filled the cavern. He opened slitted eyes, wondering what fresh hell was in store now.

It rattled the whole place, the walls and the ground shaking. A brighter, whiter light cut through the gloom, and Dean twisted awkwardly to see what was happening. Moving even that little bit made him gasp, and with such limited mobility, he could barely see the smaller cave, let alone anything else. What he could see was the swarm clustered at the entrance, a black mass of fighting, clawing death and then a brilliant white light burst through the horde, scattering the millions of flying demons.

The light blossomed, growing to reveal a man flying through the air, straight at the Fuglies. He shone like a star, trailing a plume of glittering light, a dull roar filling the cavern as he approached. Dean blinked.

The flying guy crashed into a Fugly, striking it hard enough that the crack reverberated through the cavern and the Fugly fell like a stone, adding yet another crash and rattle to the noise and tumult. It was far enough away that Dean was in no danger of being crushed, but the momentum of its fall jolted him on the ground as it landed, tentacles waving about.

'No friggin way.'

Whirling and twisting up and away from the downed Fugly, the man darted upwards and then dove straight down, heading towards Dean. He skimmed over the top of the others, some of which reached up with tentacles to snag him. Stunned and doubting his eyes, Dean tried to sit up, tried to move and shit on a stick, he could do it! It hurt like a bitch, but he pulled himself up to lean on his elbow. Big Fugly and the others were entirely focused on the light guy as he wove above and through them, dodging legs, tentacles and screams. In a matter of moments, the guy was close enough for Dean to notice his goddamn wings and recognise his face.

"Novak?" he slurred, uncertain of anything as his body screamed at being upright and his brain stalled at the sight of wings and a glowing marine. He opened his mouth to say something more but Novak closed the distance, landed long enough to snatch him and launch off again.

It took seconds but holy hell it hurt so much Dean nearly vomited. It wasn't a gentle hold or a smooth ride, and Novak was silent as he flew up and up. Over his shoulder, Dean saw Big Fug reaching for them, tentacles racing upwards accompanied by a scream so hate filled it burnt his skin. "Hang on," Novak shouted and a portal opened in front of them. Dean held on as best he could and closed his eyes against the light.

Blinding brilliance surrounded them, a bright red against his eye lids, a feeling of free fall and panic, speed and time colliding into a moment of sheer and completely white. It lasted a second and it was a second too long as Dean rattled around the empty space, caught in free fall.

A crack of sound. Gravity returning. Pain and agony bearing down and biting into bone and skin. Colours and sounds. Smell of blood and fear. Empty, lonely cold.

Tearing his eyes open, needing to see, needing to know, Dean blinked away the after images of wings and teeth. Through the haze, he glimpsed grey concrete walls, a low white ceiling and the shining face of Private Jimmy Novak.

"You flew," he murmured.

"Yes, I did."

"Holy fu…"

*SGA*SPN*SGA*SPN*SGA*SPN*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s note: Is it weird that I pictured Castiel looking like Buzz Lightyear charging in to save Dean?  
> Chapter 9 will be up next week. It will of course contain some accompanying comfort post-whumpage. Thanks for reading and sticking with this fic and series. It really means a lot of me.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: This is the dialogue-heavy chapter I was having an internal debate about. I hope it works and does its job: lay the groundwork for later chapters and stories.

*SPN*SGA*SPN*SGA**SPN*SGA*SPN*SGA**SPN*SGA*SPN*SGA*

Consciousness was overrated in Dean's not so humble opinion. He swam in and out of awareness for what felt like days, caught between dreams, nightmares, half-imagined visions and reality. Big Fugly frequently returned, leering down at him, dripping acid into his bones, setting him alight, his screams echoing through the cavern, lost in the deep vacuum of space. Worms dug through his brain, ripped his skin, devoured his insides, stirring the ghastly sensation of being eaten alive over and over again. Each time Fugly reappeared, a soft touch on his head or on his face chased it away. Sam poked at him, impatient, asking questions about computer programs, code and Gou'ald. Always too impatient, Sam. ‘Sleep when you are dead, Dean’. Long hair fell into his face and Dean reached up to wipe it out of his eyes. 'Need a haircut, Sammy.'

Sam's too small hand caught his, wiped away the pain, murmuring, going on and on about laboratories and crime scenes, his deep voice rumbling into red tones and green shades. Ruby lurked behind him, flitting in and out of sight, blonde hair changing to snakes and tentacles, hissing at Dean. Black mist swirled around her, lifting her hair, diving into her flesh. Out of reach, out of earshot, alone, Gibbs' presence pulsed a steady, welcoming beat. Part of Dean yearned to reach him, yearned to tap into the ocean calm purpose he projected. Pain surged and scattered the images as Andrews' face replaced Sam's, his mouth wide open, trying to swallow him whole, to consume him. ‘Don’t fight it, Dean. It’s for your own good.’  Andrews’s wicked smile morphed into a yawning Fugly, faceless, alien, eating him alive, tearing him open slowly and relentlessly.

Firm, steady touch grounded him, drew him away from Fugly and dispelled the panic and fear. Blessed cool banked the fires inside his chest. Fresh air filled his crispy lungs. Relief plunged him into the dark and a flickering light drew his gaze. Curious, Dean focused on the light.

In the light, Ronon and Teyla were arguing, their voices raised, hands raised in anger. Sheppard bumped his shoulder as they ran side by side, fighting demons whose black eyes appeared and disappeared. Above him, a dome of energy crackled and popped with power, shattering the night, blowing up the sky. Fugly lurched out of the dome, screaming and Sheppard called for him for help, searching, lost in the black, fear colouring his being, drowning him. Dean reached out, hand outstretched and tried to pull him back, tried to keep him safe.

Breaking the moment, scattering the dream, Sam took his hand, gripped it tightly and said in a strange voice. "Wake up, Dean. Wake up."

Peeling back the layers of awareness, struggling to find the way home, Dean opened his eyes slowly, haltingly.

_Sammy?_

A dry pounding headache beat a drum in his head, dull and insistent. He opened his mouth and felt his lips crack, and tear, parched and desperate for water. The light was soft, gentle, but it still made him wince as his surroundings settled from blurry to moderate clarity, piercing his brain, deepening the headache.

_Sam?_

He was in a room. An ordinary, Atlantis-like room with a high white ceiling and all things considered, that was infinitely better than a cave full of demons. He was lying on something soft and it warm enough to buffer some of the cold from the floor but not enough to keep its hardness from pressing into his bones and joints. Sam was sitting next to him, dressed in military BDUs which looked worse for wear, singed and torn. Sam turned his head, and Dean's heart skipped. Not Sam. Novak. The spike of regret, of sadness was unexpected and fierce. No long, ridiculous hair. Only Marine-short hair and a face he’d come to recognise only recently.

Mind foggy with memories and visions, Dean spoke before he really knew what he wanted to say. "No wings." The words emerged as a croak, dry and harsh. It wasn't his uppermost, priority number one question but it was the one that slipped out. The dude had had wings, right?

Meeting Dean’s gaze, as unfazed and expressionless as ever, Novak nodded. "They are not visible on this plane." The lighting in the room was not great like it was short a few lightbulbs. Novak was slightly silhouetted by a light behind him, his profile etched with lines of grey and pale light.

What Dean wanted to demand was 'And how in the hell does that work? Who are you, what are you, and where in the hairy hell are we? Oh, and what the ef is a plane?'  What he was able to grate out was, "Alien?"

A brief, never quite there smile crossed Novak's face. "No. I'm an Angel, a Servant and Messenger of God. My name is Castiel."

You could practically hear the capital letters. Unimpressed, Dean coughed, "Bullshit."

"I shit you not."

Dean blinked, almost smiling himself. A goddamn angel swearing was one thing. Corporal Novak cracking a joke was another. The dude had zero sense of humour usually and never reacted to a prank or to being teased. Novak or Castiel stared back, perhaps unaware of the joke, or he had a great poker face.

"For real?" Dean stammered.

Novak nodded. "It took me some time to locate the pocket dimension the creatures hailed from. Once I knew where you were, I used what strength I had to breach it and rescue you. We were both fortunate that the hell dimension was small and I found you quickly."

"No shit," Dean agreed. Novak was sitting cross-legged next to him, his battered BDU top was undone at the neck. His undershirt and vest were missing and Dean recognised the remains of Novak's vest and shirt in the pinky, shredded bandages on his arms and chest. Dean's clothes were pretty much toast. His upper body was bare, and Novak's thicker BDU jacket was covering his hips. An actual blanket covered his legs, and feet. Coughing a little, Dean raised an eyebrow at Novak. He was in a lot of pain, but not really as much as he was expecting, or rather, he should have been unconscious and dying.

Dean's gaze was drawn to his stomach automatically, to the life-threatening, very likely to kill him wound. There was a flash of memory, Fugly boring into him, plunging its tentacle inside him, deep and hard, splitting skin, and ripping organs. Shaking, Dean reached out to check the death sentence but his fingers touched perfect skin, his stomach was flat, smooth and unmarked. No torn muscle, skin or exposed organs. Dean knew damn well that he had not imagined Fugly digging around and drilling into him there, so…

"I used what power I had left to heal the most serious of your injuries. The wound in your abdomen was critical and would not stop bleeding. Your internal organs were failing with massive haemorrhages and tears. I healed all of the internal injuries, including the ones in your brain." Novak sounded just as dispassionate as he always did, although there was a note of anger in his voice unless Dean was imagining it. He seemed withdrawn, offish a little. Some of the camaraderie from before was gone.

Dean, however, was focused on the implications of what Novak said. A fresh sweat broke out on his skin and his pulse raced at the thought of brain damage, and an angel 'healing' him. Did that healing include removing his ability? Would he be pissed if it had?  
  
From the start, Dean had struggled to get a decent read on Novak, so the fact that he couldn't pick up his emotions was not reassuring in the least. At times it was a relief being near Teyla and Novak, not needing to block their emotions and shield them from his. Right now, however, he was unable to think beyond the fear that his ability may be gone, and Dean closed his eyes. Concentrating, he looked inward, searching for what he imagined as the centre of his power. During the two years of battling Kinetics for control, and enduring T&E's techniques of blowing open his ability so he could be a Pool 'Path, he had learnt to visualise the centre or source of his ability as a baseball like orb in his mind. Kinetics' attempts to connect to him he visualised as attempts to crack its surface and plug in, use it as a battery. He had never bothered to visualise what connecting with Sam was like, as at the time it had just been something natural and automatic. T&E Kinetics had alternatively battered or stabbed at his ability and he'd fought them off with electricity, stubbornness and sheer will.

The deeply thorough and violent electric-shock technique of blowing him open so that a Kinetic could essentially skim the surface of his empathy and gain a boost was the only way T&E were able to use him in the end. For two long years, Dean fought any real connection and Andrews kept him in a constant state of 'battery-mode' which affected his ability to speak, think and move. Dean had once spent a very long, very painful day while T&E Techs researched how big his empathic field was and how many Kinetics he could power at once. Throughout that whole day, Dean had focused on his _baseball_ , on keeping its surface unbroken and strong. The electric currents applied to his head, body and spine broadened and opened up his empathic field. Kinetics could connect to that field and gain the boost they needed to actually use their own ability. It was never a partnership, never remotely close to how he and Sam had worked together, simply stronger in their own spheres by being connected.

The three Trust Kinetics had come the closest to breaching the orb by using their combined strength to crack it. Taylor had successfully tricked him and cracked the surface and had sunk in a tether, a hard-line to his power which had hurt like a bitch. Feeling all sorts of scattered and jagged, Dean anxiously sought his centre, his ability.

Without much difficulty, he found it, a steady, reliable source he'd felt all his life. Everything felt normal, perfectly fine. His empathic shield was restored, restored after the Fugly had shattered it, and it felt strong and vibrant. Bouncy even, pliant – like it could handle some serious blows. In fact, as he concentrated on the core of his power, the place he had defended for so long, it also felt stronger, healthier, vibrant, happier. Taylor hadn't exactly scared it or anything but being free of any kinetic attacks for months now, Dean had had no real idea if Taylor had permanently weakened his control over his ability. Right now though it felt better than ever, a sunspot of control and power. No emotional leakage, no loss of control or sense of others. Dean relaxed into that comfort, well aware that he'd need to tangle with a kinetic again in order to determine if everything was truly better or stronger, but he felt up to it – mentally that is. Physically, he was still in trouble.

He opened his eyes and Novak stared down at him. "Thanks," he croaked. And he meant it, deeply. Dean layered as much emotion into that phrase as he could. He was immensely grateful that Novak had saved him, and healed him. It would be difficult to fully express himself for a while.

Novak nodded. "I am sorry that I am unable to heal the rest of your injuries, which unfortunately are still grievous."

"Help me up," Dean hissed, needing to get off the floor, feeling like his shoulder blades and butt were slicing into the rest of him.

"I do not think that is wise," Novak said but he nevertheless helped Dean sit up, carefully bracing him, his touch steady and gentle. It wasn't a good idea to get up – at all, but Dean persisted, sweating again, chest tight with the exertion and the pain. Head swimming, tears and sweat blurring his vision, Dean angrily wiped at his face and accidentally brushed his mouth, split lips and torn nostrils. "Shit."  
  
Novak seemed irritated as he frowned at Dean. "You do not have any broken bones, Dean Winchester, I healed those. Your remaining wounds are superficial but numerous. You should lie down and rest."

"No shit, Sherlock." Numerous didn't even begin to describe it. Dean felt a swirl of nausea as he got a good look at the damage. His left arm was dotted with more than a dozen open and scabbing over tears, claw marks and holes where tentacles had pushed through, splitting open his skin. Long, horrible bruises were forming where the tentacles had broken muscles and blood vessels inside his flesh. His right arm was a little better, fewer holes but just as many bruises. It looked like a sick tattoo, red angry lines fading to black and blue. Where the lines crossed each other, the bruises are spotted with blood as he bled beneath the skin.  His right hand though was a real mess, covered in teeth marks and bite wounds. Cautiously, he flexed his hand, hoping nothing was damaged and by god, it hurt, but all his fingers moved. Dried matted blood fell off his skin, collected between his knuckles, under his nails. His arms ached something fierce and he could barely lift them, and even Novak's gentle touch was painful. Long, horrific claw marks arced over his shoulders and down his back, broken painful lines where claws had caught and ripped, as the creatures tore at exposed skin.

"Your legs and neck are similarly torn up, although slightly less so. The healing removed most of the surface wounds on your chest and torso."

Sure enough, when Dean kicked off the blankets a little, his bare legs were covered in twisting lines of pain and damage, but fewer claw marks and cuts. A couple of holes dotted the ugly pattern here and there, mostly around his knees and ankles. Dean didn't really remember feeling tentacles break the skin there, but in the all-consuming cacophony of pain, he had lost the ability to pinpoint where and what hurt worst near the end. A better question was, where in the hell were his pants and boots? He didn't remember losing them, whereas he remembered most of his shirt and jacket falling away as Fugly dragged him across the floor.

Swallowing dryly, a rush of lightheadedness washed over him and he leant forward, awkwardly cradling his head in his left hand. His right hurt too much. At the contact, fresh pain surged as clumsy fingers ignited open wounds. “Crap,” Dean hissed as he felt his face, wincing as his shaking fingers grazed cuts and slices. “My face too?” he asked.

Novak nodded. “The bruises mark your face but not as deeply as elsewhere. They will fade in time, I am sure.” Dean shot him a look, both amused and annoyed.

"I was unable to heal much of the damage to your nasal passages and eyes."

Dean grunted. No wonder his eyes were burning and he could still smell Fugly. In the hell dimension there'd been no sense of smell, but back in reality, the familiar stench of rotting meat and rotten Fugly was pervasive and inside him, oozing from his pores. Novak might have saved his life, but Dean was in no condition to be of any use or assistance. Actual breathing didn’t hurt, thank God, and there was no urgent pain anywhere, but he generally felt like he'd been beaten to within an inch of his life then pushed off a cliff for good measure. Hunched over, gritting through the pain, Dean stared at the damage, his long pale legs a patchwork of red, black and blue. By some miracle, his boxers had survived and Dean did not give voice to his realisation that even his ass was painful, no doubt marked with bruises and other evidence of tentacle abuse.  What he wouldn't give for a handful of Vicodin.  He coughed dryly again and Novak stood. “I will locate some water.”

Dean pulled his legs up a little and groaned at the flare of pain that caused. Hunching over his knees, he held his head and coughed quietly, head pounding a little. Sitting up was really not a good idea, and he should probably rest, but he was tired of dreaming about demons, Fugly and Andrews. Stubbornly, he straightened his head and stared at the spot Novak had vacated.

An angel? Seriously?

Questions flooded his brain but uppermost in his mind was a strange relief, or wonder that an actual frigging angel had saved him. He damn well wanted to know why now and not before angels had started paying attention but honestly – saving him from hell was pretty damn awesome.

*SPN*SGA*SPN*SGA**SPN*SGA*SPN*SGA**SPN*SGA*SPN*SGA*

It was pretty late in the evening and General Landry was working through the ever-growing, never-ending paperwork the SGC generated. At the back of his mind and near the top of his ‘things to check up on’ list was Atlantis. They had missed their weekly dial in and sync for reporting, requests and updates, which in and of itself was not an immediate concern as there was an adequate window and margin for ‘technical issues but we are all ok’ situations. Life and missions out in the greater galaxies did not always go according to plan and a failed check-in was not an automatic signal that something was wrong. Woolsey and the SGC had set up a number of low-key signals to alert each other that something was wrong, that the lack of communication was a signal of real danger or either operation acting under duress. None of those measures or signals had been initiated. There was no obvious reason to be concerned yet, but Woolsey was rarely three days late with the reports and update. That itself may be a subtle indication.

When the announcement of a scheduled dial-in echoed through the base, Landry glanced at the schedule and felt his nerves settled. Atlantis had dialled in after all. After a few minutes, he glanced at his inbox, expecting a flood of reports and a no doubt very thorough explanation on the delay from Woolsey. As the minutes ticked by, his inbox remained Atlantis-mail free and just as he was about to pick up his phone and call Walter, the Chief Master Sergeant knocked on his open door.

“Master Sergeant?” the General greeted.

Walter saluted and replied with, “Sir. Atlantis sent an info-burst over a very brief dial in. The wormhole barely connected before they broke off.”

“I assume that they do not need immediate assistance?” Landry asked, given that Walter had not called in an emergency response request over the comm. System. Harriman nodded and handed Landry a thumb drive and said, “It’s marked for your eyes only. Hand delivery.”

Surprised and concerned, Landry took the thumb drive from Harriman and replied, “Thank you, Master Sergeant. Dismissed.”

Walter saluted and departed. Both curious and worried, Landry inserted the drive and clicked on Woolsey’s covering message. As he read, he heard himself curse softly. The Trust’s ongoing activities in Pegasus was a very real problem and Woolsey clearly thought the SGC was still infiltrated by Trust moles. The fact that yet another agent had been operating on Atlantis was indicative of just how bad the breach in their combined security was. As Woolsey noted, it was immaterial that the current attack was not going as the Trust agents had planned, the problem was that the Trust was operating so freely in Pegasus.  When General Landry reached the end of the message and Woolsey’s note that they were considering an immediate evac of civilians if the monstrous creatures continued to escalate their attack, he shared Woolsey’s fear that an evacuation might allow additional agents to escape or more agents to access Atlantis once the current emergency was over.

“Damn it,” Landry growled. Just when they thought they had eliminated the Trust, they reappeared and caused fresh trouble. Between the Lucien Alliance and the Trust, maintaining secure operations in the Milky Way and Pegasus was problematic. Landry picked up the phone and dialled Walter. “Master Sergeant, we need to prepare a relief mission to Atlantis. Medical supplies and food as a priority. No immediate departure time yet. Oh, and Walter, strictest comm. protocols, please. Keep the circle as small as possible.”

That taken care of, General Landry turned his attention back to the communique and tried to wrap his head around portals, devil’s traps and holy water balloons. He had a sneaky feeling Colonel Sheppard was laughing his ass off somewhere.

*SPN*SGA*SPN*SGA**SPN*SGA*SPN*SGA**SPN*SGA*SPN*SGA*

Novak’s footsteps were soft and unhurried as he returned. Dean did not look up and remained hunched over. He was starting to feel really awful, a bone-deep hurt as his system struggled to process the extensive hurt. Sleep and rest were out of the question, not when there was the smallest chance for dreams and nightmares. No, what Dean needed was answers, so he latched on to what Novak had said about ‘using what remained of his power to heal the worse injuries.’ How did that work? Weren’t angels all powerful and super duper awesome? As Novak drew near Dean swallowed drily. "So, what? You tapped out or something? Glad I’m not dead, but I feel like shit." he grated, struggling to find the words through the shaking and trembling. It felt complaining that a miraculous healing hadn’t fixed all the hurt.

Dean looked up at Novak awkwardly, eyes thin against even the low light of the room. Novak stared back at him, seemingly uncomprehending.

"And more importantly, where in the hell are we?" Dean's throat was so dry, his mouth coated with who the hell who knew what, and so his voice broke and rasped. Surely an angel could have brought them back to Atlantis. He was a little surprised at the anger in his voice, at the ire that pricked his nerves. Novak clearly understood his garbled words though because he looked away. "I don't know where we are."

"What? How is that possible? No, better question, what in the hell are you even doing here? I mean, I appreciate the assist, I promise you. But what in the hell is an angel even doing in Atlantis?" The tail end of the sentence was more squeak than demand and Dean broke off, coughing and gagging a little as his dry throat seized. Gasping, feeling, even more, light-headed, he leant forward onto his knees, coughing, unable to stop. His lungs were spasming and contracting and between the dry, irritated lining of his throat and a complete lack of moisture inside him, Dean couldn't stop coughing. The steady presence from his dreams, the mirage of Sam that wasn’t Sam folded around him as he struggled to breathe for several long moments and as Novak placed a canteen in his shaking hands.

"It's water. Old but palatable."

Desperate, Dean sipped at the canteen. It was warm and stale and worst, tasted of whatever was in his mouth, but the return of moisture to his insides was an instant relief. He coughed most of the first few sips out, but eventually, enough trickled down his throat. Alternating between coughing and sipping water, and trying not to spew it all up again, it took Dean a good while to get past feeling like he was going to expel a lung and die. As the coughing subsided, he shot Novak a grateful look. "Thanks."  The surge irritation he felt though was strange. Something about Novak was scraping at his insides, at his sense of ease and relief.

Angels and demons. Hail Mary rescues. Sitting alone with this stranger, somewhere unknown.

Stranger.

A stranger with a familiar face.

Dean swallowed, throat finally clear. The gratitude he felt was so real, so vivid and yet he could deny the anger threading through his emotions. As ever he could not read Novak and now he knew why. An angel. A god damned angel.

“Why don’t you know where we are? And seriously, dude, an angel? What the h… Why now?” Dean’s chest felt tight in a way that reminded him of when Sam had left. A pressure, a feeling of being unable to articulate all he was feeling. For an empath, Dean struggled to fully understand his own emotions at times.

At first, it seemed Novak was going to demur to answer, feign ignorance or something and Dean's gaze hardened. Before he could demand anything further, the guy looked away again and said quietly, "I will answer your questions. You really should rest but perhaps you will rest easier once I have explained."

Dean growled in agreement, taking a sip of water and grimacing at the taste again. Novak turned back and faced him. "Allow me to relate the situation in full. I swear that all your questions will be answered." Dean nodded and then frowned as Novak sank to his haunches and helped him sit back a little until he was resting up against the back of a counter or desk. The solid support at his back helped, and Dean relaxed a little. He felt cold, considering he had no shirt on and they weren't exactly in a temperature controlled environment and before he could say anything Novak passed him another blanket. "Mind the wounds on your shoulders and arms. The fabric may irritate the scabs. I have no more bandages to secure them."

Touched by the considerate gesture, Dean nonetheless growled, "Quit fussing, more talking," and then coughed again. Novak waited for the bout of coughing to pass and then sat back into a cross-legged position, his face a blank but oddly at ease. Dean settled the blanket around his shoulders, appreciating the warmth but Novak was right. The fabric was rough and caught at his injuries, irritated his skin. Oh for a worn, broken in a hoodie. And Vicodin. And a hamburger. No, not a hamburger… Dean broke off from a train of thought that led nowhere and focused again on the supposed angel beside him. 

Staring at the floor, Novak seemed reluctant or perhaps hesitant. Before Dean could prod him again, he began. "You may be surprised to learn that the forces of Heaven are not united. There are several factions within the ranks of Angels, even amongst garrisons." He looked up and met Dean's gaze. "I belong to a particular faction which seeks to delay the End of Days."

Not in the mood, tired and hurting, Dean growled, "Dude. I don't need a history lesson or any long spiel, just..." Novak interrupted him with a hand on his arm, cutting off a potential cough.

"Please, allow me to tell you all. It will all make sense and at present, we have nothing else to do." Novak's face was so earnest, so expressive, his eyes bright. Dude looked like he wanted to get something off his chest like something was bothering him. Dean wasn't in the mood to humour him but felt a modicum of sympathy as he said, "Right. Nothing other than look for a way to contact… Atlantis…" His sarcasm ended in more coughing and Novak pressed the canteen at him again, urging more sipping. Sullenly Dean did so, glaring at him. Undeterred by the glare, Novak continued.

"At present, you need to sit and drink and rest. We can explore this place in due course. You wanted answers, please listen." His tone held a small note of chiding like Dean was a petulant child who demanded answers and then interrupted the explanation.

Dean grumbled but sipped the canteen, unhappily. "Fine. You wanna stop the Apocalypse. Woohoo. Go on."

Novak sighed. "There is, however, a faction, led by the Archangel Raphael, which desires to accelerate the time of the final battle. They grow weary of waiting and serving endlessly s it were, and have embarked on a plan to bring matters to a head."

"Dicks." Dean coughed. He brought his knees up a little more, covering himself further with the blanket. Novak shot him an odd look and shrugged, "Yes, well. More importantly, they are not alone in this goal. Like Heaven, Hell is also divided. The most powerful faction in Hell was led by Azazel and Lilith and they seek to release Lucifer from his cage and bring Hell to Earth."

Interested at the mention of Azazel, Dean grimaced, "Wait, Azazel as in ole Yellow Eyes, right? The asshole I offed in Wyoming?" He did not add 'the asshole who killed my mom.' That was a given but he hated speaking those words. Settling into his seat, stretching a little, Novak nodded. "Correct. Lilith is one of the demons you released when the Devil's Gate opened."

"I know that and Sam and I tried to stop that." Dean snapped, a flush of anger on his face. They both still felt guilty about that but damn it, they had done their best.

The silence of wherever they were was oppressive, the silence of a long-abandoned building. In that silence, Novak’s voice was clear and decisive. "I am aware. Azazel's plans have long impacted your family, Dean Winchester – for several generations. Like most of the Fallen, he is impetuous and evil, but he is, was, incredibly cunning and patient. For decades he laid the foundations for the Devil's Gate to be opened and prepared various vessels for Lucifer." Novak sighed and spread his hands as if demonstrating the opening of the Gate.

Fighting off the familiar and almost forgotten fear about demon blood and killer headaches and weird ass powers, Dean asked, "Vessels? You mean Sam and the other demon blood kids?"

"Yes."

"Why? What was his ultimate plan?" Bobby and Sam had debated endlessly about the ultimate goal of that asshole. It'd be nice to finally know. For so long it had felt like they were always playing catch up on a game they did not understand, on a scheme they could not see the end goal of.

Novak replied flatly, "To release Lucifer."

Dean raised his eyebrows at that, which hurt his face. Well, shit. Freeing Devil. No big. He nodded his understanding and said, "Ok. Go on."

Taking a deep breath, the angel said quietly, "Azazel's plan was complex but had two main goals, one dependent on the other. First to break the first seal to Lucifer's cage and second to prepare a vessel for Lucifer." At Dean's look of confusion, Novak sighed again. "Lucifer is caged within the depths of Hell. He is able to influence and direct his minions but he cannot leave. His cage is sealed by hundreds of potent seals, of which two are the most critical. The first and the last. Azazel and his cross-road demons have been working diligently to break the first seal and essentially make the rest of his plan possible."

Touching his lip with his tongue, exploring a particularly deep cut, Dean asked, "So is it broken? The seal? Did opening the Devil’s Gate do that?"

"No. You prevented it. The First Seal is intact."

Caught off-guard, Dean looked up, "I did?"

Nodding, Novak pointed at Dean briefly while he replied, "When you released your father from Hell. You may have done so by accident, but when the Devil's Gate opened, he escaped and thus the first seal was not broken."

Well and truly confused, Dean stared at the guy. Say what now? "Dad was the first seal?" His heart hammered in a good approximation of a steady fear based rhythm. How had they lucked out with this? And how had his Dad been a seal?

"Yes, but only because he had sold his soul to save you. The seal is broken when a righteous man is sent to hell and he succumbs to its tortures and horrors and embraces evil. Your father resisted long enough to escape, so the first seal remains intact." Novak's gaze was unnerving like he knew just what went on in hell, and how impressive John Winchester's endurance had been. A year in hell and Dad had clung on, kept a seal he knew nothing about intact. Just being a stubborn ass son of a bitch.

Ridiculously proud and pleased, Dean said quietly, more to himself, "Go Dad." Dean's voice was small and quiet, lost in the emotion he did not want to explore. Not wanting to revisit that year of guilt and anger knowing his Dad was in Hell, Dean asked, "But, it can be anyone right? Any righteous man tricked to hell?"

Here Novak shifted, his earnest expression unchanged but he seemed mildly proud of what he was about to say. "Correct. For the past two years, my garrison and I have been waylaying crossroad demons and protecting innocents who may have been tricked into selling their souls. Also, your brother killed the lead cross-road demon several months ago and that has dealt them a serious blow."

"Sam did what now?" Dean straightened, winced but he needed to know more. Sam was still fighting demons? Novak shifted again, less pleased now judging by the tightening of his mouth. His words, however, where what Dean needed to hear. "Your brother has been fighting demons for the past two years. Seeking a way to stop Lilith."

"With Ruby?" Dean growled, clenching his left hand. Damn it, Sam. What are you thinking?

"With Ruby,” Novak confirmed. "She is deceiving him, however."

Fear burst in his heart. Of course Ruby was lying to Sam. Of course. But Dean couldn’t help the fear that rose at hearing those words. He growled, "I know that. Why is she helping him, then?" Another question Dean and Sam had been arguing about for months. A demon was a demon – you couldn't trust them. What was Ruby's real plan?

"Because she is preparing him to be the vessel." Fresh fear flooded Dean and maybe Novak felt that as he forestalled Dean's inevitable question when he leant forward, mouth open to interrupt. Novak touched Dean briefly, cutting him off and he continued. "As you know demons may claim any host. They possess and control humans and can only be removed through exorcism. Like demons, angels do not have a physical form on the mortal plane."

That brought Dean up short, almost forgetting the trail of the conversion. What the hell? Angels possessed people too? But that meant…

He gasped, "You body jacked this guy? You're riding a human right now?"

"Yes."

Fury, unlike anything Dean, had felt in a long time surged through him, clarifying all of the underlying anger into a sharp fire. This SOB was no better than a demon. Bodyjacking a hapless innocent like it meant nothing. Dean snarled, "Bastard! You…"

Novak… no, Castiel cut him off, quick and to the point. He was clearly unhappy at Dean's reaction and its implications. His voice was sharp, matching some of Dean’s anger, "Angels do not possess. We seek willing hosts. I cannot force myself on anyone. James Novak willingly agreed to host my presence."

Bullshit! Part of Dean laughed at the affront in his face, but the rest just radiated fury. He shouted at the bastard, "Because you tricked him! Get the hell out of him!" If he could of, Dean would have surged to his feet and punched the dick and he nearly did. Raising his fist, Dean pointed an angry finger at Castiel, “You are a god damn liar!”

"James is well aware of why I need his body and the dangers involved. He is a willing participant." Castiel replied primly, stiffening as he spoke and Dean continued to glare at him. Shaking his head, Dean barked, "Bullshit! I wanna speak to him."

"Certainly, but may I finish first? You need to hear everything, I think." Castiel’s instant agreement derailed Dean momentarily. He hadn’t expected Castiel to cave so quickly. Suspicious, Dean scowled. Could he trust anything the ‘host’ said? Bastard could probably make him say anything. Unhappy, but needing answers, Dean growled, "Fine."

Looking a bit miffed, Castiel did not relax as he spoke, and continued with, "Lucifer though Fallen is still an Angel. Once released from his cage, he can visit earth but still needs a willing host."

A horrible conclusion slapped Dean in the face, realisation flooding through him. Oh shit. Oh shit!  "And Ruby is preparing Sam to be that host? Never. He'd never agree to it." Dean tried to inject as much confidence and certainty into his voice, instinctively trying to sway Castiel’s emotions, uncaring of whether he could, or should.

Unaffected by Dean’s efforts, Castiel shrugged. "Lilith chose Ruby for a reason and she appears to have some hold on him. I cannot say that he could not be tricked, persuaded or convinced to accept Lucifer, I…"

Again, fury drowned Dean’s empathic field, flooding his senses. The mere idea of Sam being ‘tricked’ was horrendous, vile. No, it was impossible and Dean practically shouted, "Listen up asshat! Sam would never say yes! He may be a bitch at times but he'd never let the Devil use him as a meat suit!" Dean knew he was losing control, his shield leaking all sorts of emotions, most of which were anger, fury and outright denial. The angel didn’t appear to notice the emotional flood and did not flinch away like a human would.

Castiel's answering look was long and considering. His voice was calm, unmoved. "Are you completely and utterly certain that there no circumstances, whatsoever, under which Sam would agree to that?"

"Yes!" Dean roared, grabbing hold of Castiel’s arm, gripping it tight enough to bruise. He could read none of the angel’s emotions, none of the truth of what he was saying, but Dean did not care. Castiel looked at the iron grip on his arm, unconcerned. Slowly, almost cautiously, he looked up, met Dean’s gaze head on and asked, “Not even to bring you back?"

Dean faltered. A sick feeling bloomed inside his chest because damnnit, Sam was an idiot! A big goofy, sappy idiot. But he was also smart, and ruthless when he needed to be. Unwilling to acknowledge the angel might have a point, he stammered. "No, no. Not even then." He didn’t sound too confident even to his own ears.

"Would you?"

The words landed like lead, piercing his heart, shattering his indignant certainty.

"What?" Reeling from the implication, from the fear that Sam might do something stupid like say yes to Lucifer, Dean was not prepared for this question and a cold sweat broke out on his brow, under his arms, across his back. Hiding the shake in his hands, Dean broke the grip on Castiel’s arm and wiped his mouth. “What?” he asked again, shaking.

Cold, determined and unyielding, Castiel asked stiffly, "What would you do to save your brother's life? Is there anything you would baulk at if it meant saving him?"

"I…?" Dean could not form a coherent thought as wild emotions raced through him. Saving Sam was everything, protecting his family, being the big brother. He’d give anything, do anything. He knew it

"You were Azazel's backup plan."

Thrown again, unable to think clearly, Dean felt cold. Heart pounding, ears thudding with the pounding of fear and adrenalin, Dean stammered, "Huh?"

Eyes boring into Dean’s face, no doubt noting all the signs of stress and worry, Castiel stated calmly, "If Sam did not triumph at Cold Oak if he died and another demon child secured the colt, you were Azazel's back up."

Dean glared at him, furious but unable to answer, his throat tight, thick with emotion. Castiel’s words pounded against his heart, matching its thunder. "What would you have done, Dean Winchester, if you had failed to save him? Failed to save your brother? Would you have gone to a crossroads and bargained with a demon to bring him back? Lost your soul to hell?"

Silence was Castiel's only answer. Dean was unable to find a voice for the rage of anger and fear inside of him. It felt like a kinetic had stuck a taser on his neck, and his ability to communicate, to articulate his thoughts was gone. The mere idea of losing Sam, of failing at Cold Oak floored Dean, sent his thoughts crashing into a solid barrier of terror. What would he have done?

Anything.

As if reading his thoughts, probably picking up his raging emotions which he was broadcasting like a beacon, Castiel leant forward slightly his expression determined, "Do not mistake the cunning evil of these demons, Dean Winchester. If they could create a situation in which even you would consider the unthinkable to save your brother, why could Ruby not create something similar? Entice Sam to accept Lucifer to save you."

Dean looked away, his face hot and furious, head pounding in tandem with his heart. He did not want to hear this, the angel's words slicing through him. As bad as he hurt after Fugly had ripped into him, this pain was worse, piercing and penetrating the way no physical pain could be. The very idea of Sam giving in and allowing the devil to wear him like a cheap suit was vile. Yet, yet? Possible? Castiel pressed on relentlessly, ignoring Dean's discomfort and silence. "What would you have done to escape Zachariah, Dean?"

Startled, Dean stammered in a strangled voice, "Who?"

"Agent Andrews is a host to an angel called Zachariah. His role in Raphael's plans was to get you ready to be Michael's vessel. If you are honest with yourself, truly honest – if Zachariah still had you, was using you as a 'Pool Path, farming you out to kinetics, breaking your spirit, shattering your mind, and he offered you an out, would you not have taken it?"

A complete stupor fell over Dean. Unable to think clearly, unable to wrap his head around it, Dean stared at him, pale and shaking. "That’s, that's what he was doing?" His voice was flat and broken, bereft of any hope, any life.

A momentary flare of shame flickered in Castiel's aura as he spoke. "All you would have to do to make the pain and the humiliation stop was to say yes. Yes to Michael, an angel. No more pain, no more kinetics. He would have told you that Michael was coming down to stop the Devil. To be free of him and T&E all you had to do was fight Lucifer and send him back to Hell. Would you really have said no?"

The sad, sad reality of just how feasible that plan was… still was flummoxed Dean. Right now, when he was millions upon millions of miles from Andrews the mere idea of returning, of being in his custody filled Dean with such terror, such mindless fear that right now he was shaking. He'd been lucky that the Trust had kidnapped him. What might he have agreed to to be free? Dean clenched his fist tightly, his heart hammering in his chest, willing his emotions under control. He failed. Brutally, Novak continued, "You would never have known until it was too late that Lucifer was using Sam. Ruby could have spun a similar tale to him. Accept Lucifer, save your brother. Save Dean from being possessed. Save the world. Would Sam have said no?"

Panic clawed at Dean, blind, manic anxiety. He had no idea. It was possible, but … would they? Could they? Could they both have been in a situation where they were tricked into agreeing to host two old bastards who wanted to kill each other? Not only was it possible, it had nearly happened. It could still happen. A lot of Dean's anger faded as raw fear and terror washed over him, fear for Sam, for himself. They weren't free of this plot yet.

Desperate, needing some glimpse of hope, Dean blurted out, "But the first seal isn’t broken? None of this can happen?" Again his voice did not sound like his own. He sounded very lost, very alone.

Castiel nodded, not as tense as before, now that Dean was not projecting so much anger. "The various role players are growing desperate. Zachariah was convinced that he could break you in a matter of months. You resisted far longer than he believed possible and then the Trust stole you."

Dean nodded in concert, Castiel confirming his own thoughts. He was glad that he'd fought so long then, even when at times it had felt pointless. A couple of times Dean had considered giving in and being the obedient empath he was expected to be. Sheer, blind spite had fuelled his defiance for many months. The angel mused more to himself, but his words were for Dean, "I believe Ruby had Sam ready early on, based on the need to stop Lilith, to save you and the world. But as so much time passed, and the first seal was not broken, she lost much of her hold on him. Without an immediate threat, Sam had time to think."

"Andrews was being a real bastard on my last couple of months before…." Dean added himself almost at a mutter, reviewing his last assignments before Gibbs and Hotchner. Andrews hadn't wanted to loan him out and scheduled him for 'clearing' almost daily.

"Exactly. While Raphael did not care how Zachariah got you to say yes, he did care that you would not be ready. He wanted you to be primed the moment the seal broke." Castiel sounded as unimpressed as ever, but again a small spark of anger burnt his aura. Dean only vaguely noted that he was picking on Castiel’s emotions. He did not care to examine this development at all.

Recalling Castiel's oddly proud note as he spoke of his Garrison, Dean asked, "But you and your assholes were making that impossible. How do you even know what Ruby and Zachariah were doing?" Castiel shot Dean another odd look. He seemed hesitant, perhaps a bit cautious. He replied slowly, "As I said, there are many factions. I have brothers and sisters in Raphael's group who are not convinced but are willing to follow. Raphael has agents watching Sam, as he wants to know where the Lucifer vessel is at all times."

Dean stared at him, unable to shake the unease, the anger of Sam being watched, spied on. Ruby was playing him, and a whole host of dick angels was watching him, letting it happen. Castiel continued, "Time has not been their ally and I believe we are close to them giving up – all of them. If Lilith is banished back to Hell, then the demon side of the plan will falter. Sam has left Ruby and is actively seeking you. While it is still best to kill or exorcise her, he is no longer their willing puppet.”

"He left her?" Dean didn’t mean to sound so delighted, so surprised, but he couldn’t help it. Undeterred or perhaps uncaring, Castiel continued, "Further, I believe that a new demon is heading the crossroad deals, a demon named Crowley. He is not in Azazel and Lilith's camp and he is … working with my garrison to delay any righteous souls going to hell."

Dean nearly knocked himself out as he straightened, his head banging on the back of the counter. "You are working with a demon?" Had he heard right?

Affronted and quite obviously so, Castiel frowned, "No. But we have the same purpose. There has been no discussion or actual meeting, but he is aware of us and we of him."

"And Dickhead Zachariah doesn’t have me."

"Yes. I left my garrison to aid in the search for you. Earth is our domain so Zachariah is unable to find you beyond it. I joined the search both to assess where Zachariah's loyalties lay and to protect you. I was disgusted to learn that he served Raphael and how he had treated you. It was quite by chance that I learnt you may be on a distant world. It took some time, but I eventually found you on Atlantis. I returned to Earth and informed Zach that you were safe but beyond him."

"You idiot!"

"That was my first mistake." They said in unison.

Castiel nodded. "After checking in with my garrison, I was ambushed on my journey to the celestial plane. Several of Raphael's cohorts waylaid me and tried to force me to reveal your location. I failed to consider that they would be desperate enough to risk civil war in order to find you. Rather than battle and involve my garrison, I fled."

Intrigued, but still caught in a confusion of mixed emotions, Dean snarked, “But clearly you didn’t lead them back to me.” Unaware of the sarcasm or the attitude, Castiel replied, "I travelled a circuitous route to Pegasus through several planes of existence, losing them and covering my trail. I met a group who may have been this galaxy’s Ancients once and they assisted, reluctantly. Nevertheless, James and I arrived in Pegasus eventually and I used some power to create an identity for Novak here and join the Marines protecting you."

Dean stared at his earnest face for a good long while, watching for that spark emotion, but he could feel nothing really. The dude gave away his feelings every now and then, and he was clearly angry at how Zachariah had treated Dean, irritated at the implication that he had messed up and was not disinterested in Dean’s well-being. Dean, however, was in no mood to be charitable or kind, so he bit out sarcastically again, "You can't go back, can you?"

The sarcasm rolled off Castiel like water. "I fear that if I try to access the celestial plane, our location will be revealed. I tried to replenish power several weeks ago and felt the watching gaze of several angels. I left before they noticed. Angels are not meant to remain on the mortal plane for very long. Thus, eventually, my power runs out. An angel who lingers too long must make a decision – either fall and never return or return and reunite with the source of power. I used a great deal to find you and more to rescue you. What little I had left…"

"Yeah, yeah, went to healing me." Dean knew he should not sound so ungrateful or snide. If the idea of Andrews finding him was terrifying, then the idea of still being under Fugly’s power was even worse. He should not piss the guy off, he had saved him after all.

He may not have needed to worry, as Castiel did not seem to notice or be annoyed. But it was hard to tell. The ever-serious guy said, "Just so. I am unable to heal you further, let alone take us back to Atlantis. This place was the nearest to the hell dimension. I needed to be sparing in my effort so I brought us here, not realising it would not be Neui Boston.“

"Shit."

"Yes. Excrement indeed."

"That's a lot of information all at once, Nov… Castiel. But first things first, I wanna speak to Novak."

"Very well."

 

*SPN*SGA*SPN*SGA**SPN*SGA*SPN*SGA**SPN*SGA*SPN*SGA*

Glorious sunlight was streaming in through the colourful windows in the Gate Room. It was late afternoon and another rough night loomed for Atlantis. Poor Major Lorne was running on caffeine, stims and desperation. Charlie watched him from her seat at the control panels. After a narrow escape from a Fugly on New Athos, Sheppard had benched her and all other Empaths. If an Empath visited a world with portals, a Fugly or three appeared very quickly.

Still shaken by the effort and fear of trying to hold off a Fugly on her own, even if it had only been for a few seconds, Charlie was grateful for the downtime. Chuck had ordered her to go sleep but even the idea of closing her eyes and allowing her subconscious time to process anything filled her with terror. Besides, she could worry about Dean Winchester just fine from here, thank you very much.

For the first day in times, Control was quiet and Chuck was operating on a skeleton staff, most of their watch standers on rest. Chuck himself was sleeping at his station and Charlie considered herself his backup, even if she wasn't paying attention to any of the consoles. Mikilai was muttering over his console, a wizard incanting a spell almost, his fingers flying over controls as he fine-tuned readings and settings. The dial out to Earth had been risky but necessary. Lorne and his team were triple-checking the massive devil's trap in the Gate Room, making sure it was still complete after they had broken it to dial out. Only time would tell if it was intact.

Atlantis was bursting with refugees. Rather than try reclaim worlds from the creatures during the day, with their new ability to block out the sun, Sheppard and Woolsey had agreed it was best to evac affected worlds entirely. Luckily world populations in Pegasus were generally small. Twenty worlds in total had been invaded by the creatures. Atlantis had space to accommodate them all, but tonight that meant Lorne and his bolstered team needed to protect thousands of lives. Most people had brought supplies with them but if they stayed longer than a day, food would become an issue.

Charlie _felt_ Major Teldy before she saw her. The Major was usually very reserved with her emotions and only ever really radiated annoyance and pride when her male colleagues did something idiotic. Charlie shoved the chair next to her so that Teldy could sit down easily.

"Thanks."

Charlie nodded in reply, fighting a yawn. Her headache was maintaining a steady presence and sleep was the only solution that would offer respite and relief. "You doing ok?"

Teldy's words were soft and at a volume designed not to extend beyond them. Charlie shrugged. Poor Lorne was leaving at the head of his team, pace slow and hesitant.

"I'm… have you…?" Anne trailed off, her voice catching a little.

It was impossible not to feel it. The raw fear, grief, sorrow that oozed from the Major. It was underscored by exhaustion sure and probably heightened by days of adrenalin and physical exertion, but it was still a sharp taste in her mouth, on her tongue. Charlie didn't want to feel it, she didn't want to deal with someone else's grief, fear. She had nothing against Teldy, hell, she was damn hot with an ass that Charlie would…

A sharp pain fluttered through Charlie, a familiar one. Yearning for something you couldn't have. Whoever said the heart was the centre of emotion had no frigging idea. It was all in your gut and Charlie felt the old familiar stir of longing for connection, for love, for being with someone who cared. She knew Anne wasn't that person. Hell, she hadn't met the girl she longed for, outside of fiction of course.

But the idea of fooling around with Anne and Dean…

Hell, Dean would probably love that.

Laughing a little to herself, Charlie sniffed and wiped her eyes. Stupid emotions. She turned towards Anne who was deflating, disappointment colouring her everything. With the same spontaneity Charlie usually reserved for in-game purchases, she flung her arms around Teldy and hugged her, tight.

The movement caught Anne off-guard but Charlie didn't end up flat on the floor or nursing a black eye, so yay! Anne's surprise faded and she returned the hug very quickly, leaning into it. Eyes focused on the light outside, the empty distant horizon obscured by glass and building, Charlie sighed more to herself, but the words were for Anne.

"He has to be ok."

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TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *drum roll*


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

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Novak… no, Castiel the Dick was off somewhere exploring, searching for food and more water. Dean was lying back against the smooth, stone counter leg, knees drawn up to his chest, wrapped in his itchy blanket. Dozens of disparate, disconnected thoughts raced through his mind. The Dick had really laid down a load of very important information, but holy hell, Dean had no idea what to make of it all. The conversation with James ‘Jimmy’ Novak had been brief and unfulfilling. The dude had not sounded all that different from Castiel – what was he expecting, a high squeaky voice. He confirmed everything the angel said – demons, plots and yes, he had agreed to host Castiel. Dean had kept it short both because he was tired and hell, he didn’t really believe the idiot. Honestly, what schmo would host a tight-ass, holier than thou angel?

Angels, Demons and the damn apocalypse were a damn sight more serious than ghosts and monsters, and Dean felt totally out of his depth trying to understand it all. He and Sam were the chosen vessels for angels who had a millennia-old hard on to slap it out? Old Nick and Big Mike were brothers, so both sides liked the idea of using actual brothers as vessels. What was even more concerning though was how close Azazel had come to succeeding. Sam nearly died in Cold Oak and if Dean had not had a kickass lightning bolt ready to knock the asshole about to gut Sam flying, Sam might have died. If he had died, try as he could, Dean could not completely, honestly say that he would not have considered making a deal to bring Sam back. With all this knowledge and know-how of the consequences of that deal, maybe he'd have walked away, grieving and alone, but even now, years later the idea of Sam dying, on his watch… made Dean sick to the stomach. He would do anything to keep Sam safe, anything. 

It was hard to think clearly, and his mind was racing. Between his aching body and exhaustion, he was in no condition to make sense of it all. Never the less, the thoughts continued to roll over each other, like an insane carousel. Sam was in trouble. Right now. This second.

Ruby was still trying to hook her claws into him, Dean was certain of that. First seal or not, the bitch would want Sam to toe the line, damn his soul, go back to hell with her if necessary. She would never let him go, not if she could help it. Dean couldn't allow that. On that count, Castiel the Dick was right. Ruby needed to die – soon.

Lilith too. They needed to send her packing asap.

Was it possible to exorcise an Angel? Dean needed to know because he planned on kicking Andrews' ass all the way back to Heaven. Would Castiel tell him, if it was possible? Could he trust Castiel?

That was the big question. Could he trust this dick who was riding some idiot as a meat suit? Sure, the guy had saved his life. Hell, he'd been almost a friend for a while, backing him up fighting creatures, helping him in the infirmary, but if he'd only done it to protect him, keep him away from Zacharias? Did that matter?

While Dean still had loads of questions and unresolved links floating around his brain, he nonetheless appreciated Castiel's frankness. Hopefully, all the cards were on the table and Dean knew what he had to do. He had to get back to Earth as soon as possible. Sam needed him, needed his help to kick those demons' asses straight back to hell.

Was it even possible to go back to Earth? Would the SGC allow him to? Could he keep a low enough profile that Zacharias would not find him? Castiel said Zacharias knew he wasn't on Earth but was there a way to keep the angel from finding him?

Dean slammed his fist into the floor, ignoring the pain, unable to express the rising tension any other way. There was a goddamn sword hanging over Sam's head. One slip, one righteous soul in hell and the demons and angels would have what they wanted. Ruby would trick Sam into accepting Lucifer because his brother was a soft-hearted idiot and then… and then…?

Why hadn't Castiel told him this sooner? Why wait until now? Surely if he knew what was going on….? But he, Dean Winchester, was safe. Safe on Atlantis. No war. No end of days. Michael would not have a vessel, so what… Lucifer would just reign in blood and horror on the earth while Dean played Star Trek a billion light years away? That didn't sound right. Maybe there was something else Castiel wasn't telling him. Probably was, he barely knew the guy, why would he tell him everything?

Surely the angels could find another vessel, the demons too. Why did it all rest on them, the Winchester brothers? Lilith could make more demon kids, someone suitable and the angels could use another sibling, another poor sap and then they'd have their end of days. Why them? Why all this fuss?

Scanning the room, searching for answers that would not come, Dean cursed under his breath. He wanted to stop thinking, wanted to rest. No, actually, he wanted to pace around and hit something. Preferably Ruby or Andrews or…

Then it hit him. Like a blow to the head. It couldn't be just anyone. It had to be them. Why didn't matter, but there was something about him and Sam and if they didn't cave, if they said no – no apocalypse. Castiel has said something about their family, about Azazel troubling their family for years. Dean bit his lip, thinking furiously. Meg and her dick brother had come at them. Not Andy or Ava. Them. Azazel possessed their Dad, tricked him into a deal. Not the other parents, no one else. The Winchesters. Sure Dad had been hunting him, making his life difficult, but still….

Was that an advantage? Did his being an Empath and Sam a kinetic make a difference? Or had it been the difference to save them!   
  
Castiel had said that he had foiled Azazel’s plan by saving Sam and rescuing his Dad. No first seal, no cage break. No cage break, no war. More importantly, no willing vessels, no war. It was all hanging in the balance, and Castiel was helping him stay as far from Earth as you could get. The other players were getting desperate, which meant they were running out of time. Maybe Dean shouldn't go back.

Maybe…

Dean rubbed his face, wincing at the pain, the ache. Maybe…

The solution floated in front of him. So simple, so clear.

Maybe Sam needed to get to Atlantis.

A kernel of hope blossomed inside Dean's chest. Was that it? Get Sam to Atlantis? Away from Ruby, away from crossroads, away from Earth. Then if the first seal broke, there were still no vessels. No Winchester brothers. No chumps to trick and manipulate into accepting a shit-luck deal. Rubbing his hands through his hair, enjoying the sensation of release, of tension easing, Dean glared at the silent room, thinking furiously.

What would be more challenging, getting to Earth or getting Sam to Pegasus? The SGC and IOA (whoever they were) didn't want their secrets out. Not yet. They couldn’t risk Dean giving it all away if T&E ever broke him again. So they'd prefer for him to stay, in fact, they'd make it very difficult for him to leave Atlantis. Dean figured he could find a way to dial back to Earth, but getting out of the SGC, which he understood to be at the bottom of Cheyenne Mountain would be much harder. And on Earth, Zacharias could get him, maybe trace him?

The intense panic at the thought of being in Andrews's hands again was mind-numbing. No, no. It was easier to get Sam to Atlantis. He'd need to invent some reason, some benefit…

Sam was a kinetic and the expedition could really use a kinetic. A bonded Kinetic and Empath would be really, really useful against the Wraith, Asurans, whoever. Maybe that benefit would be attractive enough to break a few rules and bypass protocol. Convince the SGC that Sam would be game, and that way the risk of anyone looking for Dean and causing trouble was diminished. Eventually, the angels would give up and leave T&E. That Crowley dude would keep the crossroad demons away from righteous souls and Castiel's buddies would keep an eye on them all. Then…. Danger gone.

Sam would love Atlantis. His little nerd brain would just flip out at all the sci-fi stuff and ships and ….

And he'd have his brother back.

Dean blinked, surprised at the emotion that idea generated. Wiping his eyes, furious with himself, he hissed, "Two years, idiot. Two years. You owe him a punch in the head."

However much he wanted to punch Sam the idea of him being in punching distance was very very appealing. Dean leant back, some of his anxiety departing as he ruminated on this final iteration of his plan. Get Sam to Atlantis, give all the angels, demons and T&E agents the finger and wait it out. Sounded awesome.

Yep, that was what he needed to do.

Novak bustled over suddenly, an excited expression on his face. Damnit, Dean hissed. It wasn't Novak, it was Castiel, the Dick. Novak was the schlump meat suit. He had to remember to call him Castiel.

"Dean, I believe I know where we are and what we must do."

"Great, did God tell you?"

"No, we are not so fortunate. Come, quickly."

"There is no quick in me today, bucko, so just tell…"

Nov… Castiel bent down and helped Dean to stand, which produced a litany of curses and growls from Dean. "Look asshole, I …"

"I cannot explain, you must see for yourself. Time is of the essence."

Reluctantly, Dean let Castiel walk him through the room towards one of the doors. Walking hurt – hell, everything still hurt and magic Castiel had no painkillers, so Dean just had to ride it out. Moving though woke up all the torn muscles, the bruises, the cuts, the unhappy joints and bones. Shaking and sweating, Dean leant heavily on Castiel and bit his lip to keep from screaming. His lip was raw and split anyway, so that didn't help, but he kept the scream to a whine.

Luckily, for Dean not passing out and Castiel avoiding a future kick to the balls, the trip was short. "There are many rooms here, many doors and I wish I had found this one first." Castiel dragged him into a large room which had a very familiar feel to it. It looked like Atlantis, similar colours, similar architecture. However, what really drew Dean's gaze and was Castiel's goal, was a funky looking machine covered in glowing blue turtles.

Belatedly, Dean saw the very messy, very dead corpses scattered around the room. There was no prize for guessing who they were and what had happened. After three days of fighting demon creatures with wings and teeth, Dean knew what bodies torn apart by those bastards looked like. Hell, he had experienced it first-hand. The bodies were fresh-ish, in that they were only a few days old, probably four days old. Dean recognised the uniforms, the gear. This was the missing Trust op team. The stench was pretty bad, but given the sterile environment, probably not as bad as it could have been. It still reeked though and Dean's gag reflex kicked in. He fought it, not wanting to spew, not when there was a glowing, very much active machine in the room. Castiel dragged him towards it and when they were close enough, he stopped and propped Dean up against the table the thing was resting on.

It looked 'Ancient'-like and weird and had six blue stone turtles on its surface. It was an inverted punch-bowl shape, with glowing lights on the rim, turtles on the dome and fancy designs in white and black on its pale blue surface. It was pulsing steadily, each of the turtles lighting up sequentially, the pattern repeating over and over again.

Next to it on the table was a tablet and sheaves of paper. Dean snatched up a couple up and glanced at the writing. He scanned them. "Mental link. Possible control device. Used to access higher brain functions. Ancients abandoned due to unexpected results. Morons." Dean read aloud, commenting at the last. The Trust had clearly thought that this device allowed the user to control the minds or higher brain functions of others. So, they'd slipped a turtle into Atlantis and then turned the device on.

"Idiots thought they were taking over people's minds and instead they invited those monsters to a free buffet. We need to turn this thing off, now!" 

"How?" Castiel asked, staring at the device like it was a bomb or a small child.

"Start pressing buttons!" Dean demanded, reaching out to do just that. Castiel grabbed his hand and turned to face him. "If simply touching random buttons had worked, surely they would have turned it off when the portal opened." Castiel motioned towards the dead bodies and Dean rolled his eyes. "Maybe they didn't have time. No salt, no handy empath to kill demons and so the bastards ate them before anyone could try to turn it off."

Castiel sagged, fading a little in his enthusiasm. "Perhaps. However, in Dr McKay's orientation session, he was most strenuous about the rule not to touch any buttons. 'Wait for a scientist, don't touch anything you giant apes'," Castiel quoted.

"Dr McKay has probably pressed more buttons than anyone else on Atlantis. People are dying out there and you want to wait until … what? We can't exactly phone a friend and ask for help?" Dean waved his arms around expansively, indicating the lack of a phone. It was then that he noticed the flashing terminal.

It looked like an old IBM computer. Blue text on a screen. "The spy. The frigging spy!" Dean launched himself off the table, fell over and was caught by Castiel. "Over there, quickly."

Castiel hauled him to the terminal, Dean's feet hurting abominably by now, his arms aching something fierce. Castiel plopped him onto the handy chair and pushed him closer. Sam was the computer guy usually, but Dean was no slouch when he had to. He typed in a few commands and smiled in relief when the familiar operating system replied. "Woohoo, it's DOS based. Thank god I remember how to do this." He called up the previous commands and saw how the user had initiated contact with the spy in Atlantis. Typing furiously, making a few mistakes and backspacing while cursing a lot, Dean sent out a message to Atlantis. "Man, I hope someone's got that other terminal on and near them."

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Many miles away, Dr Cooper sat dejectedly in an engineering lab filled with afternoon sunlight, staring forlornly at a whiteboard covered in useless, pathetic mathematics. The signal apparently connected to the invading creatures was still broadcasting throughout the galaxy on a subspace band. McKay and his minions had managed to boost the sensors to isolate the signal, but they had been unable to block it, trace it or interfere with it.

McKay in his wisdom had assigned Cooper to analyse the signal's subspace properties, from a mathematical view. If they could understand how it was accessing subspace, maybe they could stop it. It did not seem to work on the same principles as the SGC or Ancient subspace comms which were highly intriguing and aggravating at the same time. Under any other circumstances such a challenge would have been intriguing but with the imminent threat of diabolical creatures pouring out of shining portals of death hanging over him, he was struggling to think clearly.

All of the equipment from Dr Edwards’ lab was in the space allocated to Cooper and he was supposed to somehow figure out how it all worked even after a dozen scientists had poked it, dissected it and torn it apart. Over on the other side of the room, McKay and the other members of the Science Department were arguing about the design for a workaround to block the signal or trace it or turn lead into gold. Who knew? That argument was going as well as Cooper's analysis of the properties of the signal. Frustrated, Cooper looked up when the somewhat retro terminal which the evil Dr Edwards had been using to communicate with the Trust lit up.

A line of blue text appeared on screen, scrolling in like an 80s movie tech special effect.

' _Atlantis. This is Dean Winchester. Is anyone getting this? I think I found the machine that opens the portals.'_

Dr Cooper just about fell off his stool. "Dr McKay! Dr McKay!"

"What? Not now, Cooper!" McKay whirled from his diatribe at the board, face red, eyes sunken and tired. "Unless you found something?" he demanded sarcastically.

Wordlessly, Dr Cooper pointed at the terminal. "It’s Dean Winchester, whoever that is. Says he's found the machine!"

"What machine?" Rodney barked as he bustled over.

"A time machine! What do you think, McKay? The scary portal making machine!" Rodney shot Cooper a vile glare and shoved past him. "Let me see."

McKay took one look at the text and keyed his comm. "Sheppard? Get down here now!"

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It said a lot about Rodney McKay's personality that it shone through a flat platform like text on a hybrid DOS-based system. The words vibrated with anger suppressed excitement and utter frustration at not being in the room with Dean so that he a) berate Dean face to face and b) turn off the machine himself.

Dean had done his best to describe the machine in as much detail as possible, but without a tape measure or scanner, his descriptions were no doubt too vague and unhelpful, judging by McKay's anger. Dean had no idea if the machine was actually Ancient, or not. It had no discernible power source, but then many standalone Ancient devices did not. They did actually have a power source but dependent on 'when' they had been made, the power source could be buried in the centre of the device or it could be at the base. Dean was still all for blasting it, and the helpful, but dead, Trust operation team had left behind several forms of blasters from zat'nika'tels to cool-looking weird ones Dean had never seen before. Surely if the machine was generating the signal that allowed the portals to form, then destroying it would stop the signal.

McKay, via text message, so Dean was spared the spectacle of Rodney going red, purple and apoplectic, had vehemently informed him that for all they knew blasting it would keep the signal going. Forever.

So now Dean was sitting on an uncomfortable stool, leaning against the desk and waiting for McKay to figure something. What he wouldn't give for a handful of Vicodin, his colt and 24-hours of dreamless sleep. If roadkill could feel anything, Dean figured he beat out roadkill by a good thousand percent. Some of the claw marks, cuts, bits, hell – whatever were bleeding again and his abused body did not like being upright anymore.

The air in the room still stank of dead people, and Dean was hoping Castiel would do something about that. The angel, however, was off exploring again. He'd disappeared while Dean was arguing with McKay via computer, clearly disinterested or offended by the language Dean was using. Given that Dean had done his utmost to use the most colourful, Marine-inspired language he could, he hoped the angel had been offended. It was on belatedly that he realised the dick had been living with Marines for months – he was probably immune to foul language by now. So the real reason he'd disappeared was probably disinterest.

On the screen, the cursor flashed, waiting for McKay's response. Without being able to send or take pictures, they had hit an impasse of 'what size punch bowl do you mean?' and Dean just not really giving a shit. He was going to give McKay five more minutes and then he was shooting the device, and then himself. No dreams when you are dead.

As if summoned, McKay's answering text appeared one goddamn letter at a time.

'IS THERE AN ACTUAL MODERN COMPUTER AVAILABLE? LAPTOP?'

Dean glanced around the room, wincing at the movement and the flurry of pain sparks that the movement caused. Perched where he was, he couldn't see any computers. The room was large and appeared to have been the staging area or work area for the Trust team. They certainly had not been sleeping in the room, given the lack of bedrolls or carryalls. So Dean replied:

'CAN'T SEE ONE. JUST A TABLET. LOOKS LIKE A KNOCK-OFF IPAD.'

The reply was as instantaneous as possible.

'CAN YOU SEE HOW THE CONSOLE IS CONNECTED TO A NETWORK OR BROADCAST UNIT?

McKay had asked this before, several times, but Dean leant forward a little again. His reply was slow, mostly because he was tired and sore and only somewhat because he wanted to annoy McKay.

'TWO MAIN CABLES OUT. ONE FOR POWER. ONE GOES INTO SOME ALIEN LOOKING TECH AND THAT TECH IS CONNECTED TO MORE ALIEN SHIT. I DON'T KNOW HOW IT'S WORKING MCKAY, IT JUST IS… CLEARLY.'

McKay replied with some expletives Dean smirked at. Maybe with some painkillers, he'd have been able to poke around a bit more and figure it out, but he just hurt so bad, so much. There was a real chance he was going to pass out if he moved wrong and then McKay would freak out some more and Dean would miss out that spectacle. It was better when McKay was in the room and he could watch and feel just how freaked out McKay was in his presence. Dean knew exactly why Rodney avoided him and probably disliked him. McKay was all about bluster, about the façade of 'I'm ok. I'm better than you, smarter than you and who cares if you don't like me.'

The thing was, McKay did care. Like most nerds, he'd probably been bullied and teased as a child, and he relished in the power he had now. What Rodney longed for however was family. Acceptance. He'd found that family and acceptance in Atlantis. His love for Atlantis and the people in the City shone bright. You didn't need to be an Empath to see that. Alas for Rodney however, Dean could _feel_ the deep fear, the deep uncertainty that he harboured. That he'd be rejected again. That he'd lose this family. Rodney knew his façade was more than just bluster, it protected him and as a pretty smart guy, he knew Dean would _see_ the truth. Rodney McKay did not like being exposed to anyone. So he avoided Dean when he could and was brusque and rude when he could not.

Even before Dean could see emotions as colours surrounding a person, McKay had been a riot of conflicting emotions and it was fun watching as his mood dipped and triggered such a range of emotion. Dean blinked and narrowly caught himself from slamming into the desk. Lost in thought, he'd nearly fallen asleep and crashed hard. Stretching was a bad, bad idea, but he did it anyway and groaned a broken off scream as he moved. He was stiffening up and more claw marks opened up as he moved.

A line of unread text blinked at him, but he couldn't see clearly enough to read it. Groaning again, he collapsed forward, a sea of black rushing up to meet him.

Bracing for pain, Dean felt strong arms catch him. In his memory he heard Big Fug roar, reaching for him as a steady strong presence whisked him away. The sheer relief, no joy, at being rescued pricked at his heart. He hadn't been left alone, abandoned. Someone had come.

_Sam_

Hands radiating calm confidence helped him lay back on the floor, something soft under his head. Through the haze, Dean saw Novak… no Castiel peering at him. Gratitude tore at him, fought the anger he was feeling. "Drink this."

Wordlessly, Dean swallowed the pills Castiel placed at his lips and then drank more tepid water. "I found a first aid kit. It contained pain relief medication. You must rest."

Dean did not argue, no way in hell was he arguing. The dizziness fuelled by some fatigue and trauma had hit so suddenly. "I just gave you some antibiotics for general infection. Dr Beckett will need to assess your injuries more fully."

A little confused, Dean wondered why he had thought Castiel gave him pain pills. Sure antibiotics were good but why none of the good stuff….

A sharp prick at his hip and blessed relief flooded his body. Morphine. He barely felt Castiel rubbing the spot of the morphine ampule injection, he just closed his eyes and let the wonderful sensation of no pain carry him away.

He barely heard, but would remember later Castiel saying, "You are welcome."

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Rodney McKay loved pressure and challenges and puzzles. He truly truly did. But he preferred trying to solve them when he wasn't bone tired and annoyed. No, annoyance helped. When he was tired and hungry. Yes, that was it. Hungry.

The interim workroom for solving Atlantis's creature problem was packed. Every person with even the slightest mathematical or engineering ability was there – annoying him. Zelenka had broken up the crowd into groups, each tasked with solving the problems of finding Dean Winchester and turning off the machine which may or not be generating the signal. Theoretically, it was a great puzzle.

_Q: Team member (idiot A) is stranded on the other side of the universe. Limited ability to communicate. Device to stop destruction with Idiot A._

_Describe your approach to solving this quandary in 1000 words or less_

Only it wasn't theoretical and the rest of Pegasus needed an answer too. If they could stop the signal… maybe Winchester should just shoot the machine. What were the odds of that being a mistake? 1000 to 1. Cooper would know.

Rodney wheeled on his chair, ready to yell at Dr Cooper, maybe throw something at him when a fresh line of text popped up on the screen. About time. Why had it taken so long for Winchester to reply?

'THIS IS NOVAK. DEAN WINCHESTER IS UNAVAILABLE.'

"What?" McKay shrieked. "What? Has he decided to break for ice-cream or something? Toilet break? Spacewalk! Get him back, you idiot. I'm not trying to do this with a Marine!" Rodney typed furiously, face red, uncaring of the looks he was getting.

'GET HIM BACK. THIS IS NO TIME FOR A BREAK!'

The reply time was agonisingly slow as Novak labouredly replied.

'HE IS UNCONSCIOUS.'

'TELL ME WHAT TO DO.'

"Oh, I'll what you what you can go do!" Rodney hissed, fingers flying.

"Rodney!" Sheppard barked from his seat across the room. Rather than rest like the idiot he was, the Colonel was hovering. Helping. Well, actually, he probably was. He and Cooper were talking maths over there, Rodney had forgotten that.

"Fine, fine," McKay muttered and deleted his tirade. Instead, he replied with:

'DO YOU KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT COMPUTERS?'

This time the response was quick.

'NO.'

"ARGH!" Rodney cried. "How can I work with this, this… At least Winchester has half a brain. Why he chose to pass out now!?"

That got a few looks and McKay reassured everyone with, "I'm sure he's ok. Back to work – still have to save him, them!"

"Reprogram the terminal!"

Startled, McKay looked up. Dr Mancusa, an MTI graduate who had two degrees in computer engineering was looking excited. "We could reprogramme the terminal on their side."

Squinting at him, one eye shut to block out the stupid, Rodney growled, "To do what? It's a DOS based terminal using alien tech to…."

Dr Mancusa interrupted, "But it is still a terminal, an earth technology terminal. And if it's anything like this one, then we could reprogramme it. Install software as it were. I mean it would be a very long code stream to enter, but…"

Excited, Rodney stood, his face alight with emotion, "We could install a programme which could kill or scramble the interference, and then we could locate the terminal's sub-space signal!"

Nodding, Mancusa added, "Or even uplink to our terminal and share its files."

"That doesn't solve the problem of the signal machine though," someone shouted and Rodney waved them off, huffing. "If we can find Winchester and get to him, it'll be easier to figure out how to turn it off in person."

"Did Novak find a StarGate?" Sheppard asked, fighting a yawn.

McKay shrugged. "I'll find out. You lot start writing up some code we can get this monkey, I mean, marine to input to allow us direct access." Rodney sat down on his stool again, excited again, pleased there was some hope. Across the room, Sheppard muttered aloud, "I think we need Charlie down here."

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Morphine was awesome.

Dean dozed in a half-awake state, listening to Castiel move about the room, occasionally returning to check the terminal. The pain was gone and Dean felt at ease enough that sleep was perhaps possible again, but strange, un-remembered dreams chased him so he was content to simply be in and out of reality for a while.

At some point, Castiel checked on him and Dean may or may not have given him the finger. If he hadn't he was ok with that, but he seemed to remember doing something. He was idly curious about what McKay was planning, but also didn't care.

Morphine rocked.

"I have found more bandages and a suture kit. I will tend to the more serious wounds while the morphine is still at its maximum effect."

Dean squinted up at the angel and tried to say, "Go to hell."

What came out was, 'G'll'

Castiel clearly did not speak morphine so he proceeded to clean and dress the unhappy and numerous wounds on Dean's arms, shoulders, back, face, legs, hell, everywhere. The antiseptic stung but only for a little bit. It soon faded under the haze of morphine. The bites and claw marks were harder to ignore but Dean did his best aided by the painkiller in his system. The guy was strangely gentle, his touch soft and careful which honestly, surprised Dean. Novak… Castiel had never given the impression he knew what kid gloves were. He probably didn't anyway.

"May as well wrap me up like a mummy, dude," Dean said. It came out slurred but hopefully, it made sense. Just how much morphine had he been given?

"If you are referring to the Egyptian mummification process, then I do not think you'd enjoy that, given that you are still alive," came the deadpan reply.

Dean snorted.

He drifted for a while, lost in the sensation of fingers touching his skin, wiping away blood and pain. It was lovely and quiet in the room and some of the stink had departed. Half asleep, Dean hmmed every now and then when a particular wound burnt under the antiseptic or the wipe caught broken skin.

A gentle hand on his brow roused him and Dean opened his eyes, wincing a little at the light, his mouth dry. Castiel was not looming over him but was rather sitting back, a little distance away. "Dr McKay would like me to search the complex for a StarGate. The structure is quite large so it may take some time. I shall return after an hour immaterial of whether I find one or not."

"Ah huh."

"McKay is also working on a code to re-programme the terminal so that they can trace our location. It should be ready in an hour. I may need your assistance in capturing it."

"Sure." Dean sighed. He heard more than saw Castiel leave and drifted away again, lost to blissful unconsciousness.

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Teldy followed Charlie into the workroom which was normally reserved for experiments and equipment tests. Zelenka had arranged for the important scientific equipment which could be moved to be placed here allowing the scientist's space to work and giving the Marines only one area to protect rather than multiple labs.

It was strangely full.

McKay and Dr Mancusa were huddled over a table, peering at something, a couple of other technical guys with them. Zelenka and Biro had wrangled several groups onto the far side and they were working on what looked like intercept calculations and mathematics way outside of her comfort zone. Sheppard, Ronon and several marines and Gate Team members were talking quietly amongst themselves, Dr Cooper oddly enough with them. As she passed their group, she nodded at the Colonel, who shot her a small smile.

The second McKay spotted Charlie he waved her over, gesticulating broadly. He shouted, "Ms Bradbury! How is your DOS?"

Intrigued, Charlie joined them and left Teldy standing alone in the middle of the room. Uncertain why she had come, after all, Anne turned to leave. While there were no teams gating off to help worlds under attack, Lorne needed help checking Atlantis's defence. Maguire probably needed help in the kitchens. Beckett needed help with the wounded. Chuck and Wallstreet needed help coordinating with refugees and impatient politicians. Woolsey needed help managing the fallout with the Coalition, again. She didn't need to be here.

 Sheppard was clearly hiding out but then he'd been working non-stop for four days. Her CO needed some downtime, whereas she had at least managed to catch some shut-eye a day ago. Maybe…

"Major, please join us. We need your assistance."

Startled, Teldy looked at Teyla in surprise. When had she snuck up on her?

"Colonel Sheppard is planning options on securing supplies tomorrow if Rodney does not figure out how to turn the machine off. Lt. Wallstreet has his hands full with our immediate needs." Teyla sounded calm, at peace. Her smile was a little too flat for her normal good nature, but that was hardly surprising. She continued, "We are reviewing friendly worlds for a beta-site where we can evacuate to if needed. Your insights on some of the worlds we are considering would be appreciated."

A few off-duty junior officers and non-com officers were with Teyla and for a second Teldy considered waving her off. There was plenty to do elsewhere. She didn't need to stay. Chuck would relay any gossip on the civ. channels. What they knew about Dean Winchester's whereabouts was already common knowledge thanks to Radio!Chuck.

"Sure."

Anne nodded in acknowledgement at the officers who greeted her. Teyla's smile was broad.

Here was as good as any a place.

To wait.

*SPN*SGA*SPN*SGA**SPN*SGA*SPN*SGA**SPN*SGA*SPN*SGA*

Dean wasn't entirely sure what woke him. It wasn't a nightmare, fortunately, or at least not one he remembered.

The lighting in the room was unchanged, still a too dim glow from old Ancient light sources. Castiel was nowhere in sight and it took Dean a moment to remember that he was searching for a StarGate. Hopefully, he found one and they could get out of here and to Dr Beckett and a morphine drip. It was a little easier to sit up, the pain muted and distant, so Dean did so, carefully. Despite Castiel's comment about mummification, Dean none the less felt a little like a horror picture extra. The angel hadn't covered all of the cuts and slices, there were just too many, but enough were covered that there was a distinct ratio of bandage to skin in bandages favour. Except for his chest. He was still bare-chested.

Getting up was a bad idea. He should rest. But a shirt would nice.

And pants.

Pants were definitely needed.

He made an abortive attempt to roll over and that ended instantly. Movement was no good. Not at all. "Gah!" Dean gurgled, curling in on himself, head pressed into the cold stone floor. He lay there for a couple of minutes, gathering his strength to try again. Taking in deep breaths was easier than moving, so Dean sucked in oxygen and prayed that the morphine would chase away the pain. A soft glow above his head drew his gaze.

Wondering if McKay was replying or something, Dean looked up at the console, but it was not visible from this angle. It was also not the source of the glow.

A small, innocuous but all too familiar portal was forming several feet away.

"Oh, shit!"

Fear fuelled adrenalin flooded his system and Dean scrambled to his feet, cursing all the while. "Shit, shit, shit!"

There was no space for a Fugly to appear in the room, and damn it, there was still plenty of room for biting, clawing creatures and the freaking tentacle. "No, no, no."

He needed something to draw a devil's trap with, or bless water, or, or, do anything! Where in the hell was Castiel?

"Castiel!" Dean roared, hoping to high hell that he heard his shout. Knowing his luck, he wouldn't. As the portal grew, Dean's flesh ran cold. He was so not up to another fight. He was barely standing, and he could feel his feet bleeding on the floor.

Maybe he could draw a trap with his blood?

When the first gaping mouth, eyeless monster popped out of the portal, its claws dark and sharp, wings glittering and fierce, Dean lost all notion of drawing traps or running. It's raging hunger and hate darted towards him, a thin black line of emotion, tainting the room, and it was joined by another and then another. Dean could _feel_ their need to feed, their hunger to rip him apart and gorge on his flesh. It was sharper than ever before, no doubt heightened by his time spent in their dimension.

Well, screw that.

This time, he had plenty of power to draw on.

All of the ambient electricity in the room, the flickering lights, the power from the terminal, the power from the device in the centre of the room, it was all fair game and Dean drank it all in. The monsters shrieked, triumph in their voices and Dean struck. He raised a hand and sent a torrent of power straight at the centre of the burgeoning mass.

Rather than scatter them, it burnt them up, charred them all on the spot, their ashes exploding in the air. The lights dimmed, the terminal flickered and the device blinked. More creatures appeared and Dean roared.

It wasn't lightning, sharp and instant. It wasn't electricity, pulsing and bright. It was raw power fuelled by more than just technology, augmented by his own power. Roaring out his pain and hurt, remembering all too clearly dying under their claws, Dean pummelled them with power, blasting them even as they emerged. Larger ones appeared and met the same fate, dying in an explosion of ash. Overhead the lights went out, the terminal popped and sparked. The machine blinked furiously and Dean yelled again, and again. Distantly he _heard_ a Fugly, heard it call, heard it yearn to eat him.

He clenched his fist, power flashing over his skin, prickling and wonderful. There was no god damn way it was coming through. No god damn way. Drawing in more power until the only light sources in the room was his fist, the portal and the machine behind this all, Dean yelled out again and poured all of the power he could, his fear, his anguish, his torment straight into the portal. The stream of raw power, augmented by human emotion struck the portal with an audible 'crack'! It shook the room, and the explosion that followed knocked Dean flying and rattled the whole building.

Unseen, the portal vanished, leaving behind acrid smoke and ash.

In the dark, Dean lay senseless but victorious.

The turtle covered device slowly cracked and shattered.

*SPN*SGA*SPN*SGA**SPN*SGA*SPN*SGA**SPN*SGA*SPN*SGA*

Another setting sun. Another night of battle ahead. Evan sighed and twisted his shoulder trying to ease the ache which had taken up residence there. He'd managed to catch a couple hours of sleep earlier but still did not feel up to tackling another attempted invasion. There were even more lives at stake and while he had badgered his entire Company into triple checking each and every salt line and devil's trap, there was still the chance that a careless foot had broken a line of protection. Atlantis might be more protected than their homeworlds, but the refugees would die just the same if the creatures broke through.

Lorne stood out on the west pier, supported by several heavily armed squads and as the sun set, the squads on the other piers, open decks and large spaces checked in over the comms. Atlantis was ready.

Chuck told all non-combatants to leave the combat channels open. The civ. channels were locked down and emergency one and two were reserved for combat response teams. _'Sun has set. Report sightings of portals to command 1.'_

Twilight settled in, colouring the sky with reds and pinks, deep indigo crawling down towards the sea. ' _Portal on North Pier'_

' _Portal on South Pier'_

' _Portal on upper deck'_

Lorne gripped his stunner tightly, a portal was opening out past the large devil's trap on their pier. "Dammnit. Portal on West Pier."

It was too far away to see exactly when the creatures appeared but something was moving near the mouth of the portal. Knowing their luck it was a Fugly, trying to get out first this time. "Stunners first then holy water. We have limited stock." His squads nodded grimly, most replying with affirmative. It was hard to see in the twilight, but the portal was rippling, growing and then… it exploded.

Luckily they were too far away to feel more than the ripple of disturbed space and air. The sound followed belatedly, a dull crack reminiscent of thunder when it was miles away. Confused, Lorne stepped forward, careful not to cross the devil's trap line and stared out at the space where the portal had been. If anything had come through it was gone.

"Did you all… are your portals…" Lorne stammered on the comm.

There was a hubbub of very unprofessional and non-protocol chatter for a minute before Chuck cut it all. His voice echoed the same surprise they all felt. _"All portals reported have exploded. Repeat. All portals closed.'_

Colonel Sheppard came on, sounding grim. " _This is the Colonel. Stay at your posts. Keep watch. Maybe Winchester figured out how to turn the machine off, maybe not. Keep your fingers crossed.'_ '

Scanning the still dark sky, which was clear of cloud for once, Lorne sighed. Maybe it was all over. Maybe.

*SPN*SGA*SPN*SGA**SPN*SGA*SPN*SGA**SPN*SGA*SPN*SGA*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *trumpets* *fanfare* … oh, wait. Not yet. *mini fanfare*  
> Can I be sad that that is the last of the creatures and the Fuglies? Can I? Ok, I am. Dean won't miss them I know but I will. Nothing like a good monster villain to move your plot along. Motivations are easy – kill, eat, smash! I guess it is back to human or human-ish villains now. Oh well. I must say though, I am looking forward to Dean punching Andrews… at some point.   
> And Sam.  
> And Ruby.   
> Poor Sam.


	11. Chapter 11

Castiel did not need a light as he hurried through the dark rooms of the abandoned facility. He was unerringly drawn to Dean Winchester’s location and ran rapidly without much thought for where he was going. The explosion a few moments ago had rattled the facility and knocked out the power. However, it had also echoed across the spiritual plane as the recoil from the pocket hell dimension flooded across the transference realms. It was doubtful that any being on a higher plane would bother to investigate the disturbance which had registered as a door being very firmly, very angrily slammed shut, but that was not a certainty.

Further, Dean Winchester may have injured himself. Again.

Castiel quickened his pace.

During his exploration of the extensive facility, he had found only one room with a view of the planet they were currently marooned on and as he ran through that room light streamed through the transparent wall and floor surface. A starry sky illuminated a dead planet without atmosphere, plant life or structure. Flat and desolate, marked with small craters, its surface whispered of long ago destruction. Castiel did not glance at the view-scape as he passed the wide window. He gave no thought as to the Ancient’s motives for building a research facility on a dead world, nor did he ponder on what had caused the destruction. He hurried past, a lone silhouette of life highlighted in starlight.

As he drew near, Castiel took the time to secure a portable light source, an item James recognised as a camp light and brought it into the larger room in which he had left Dean Winchester. As expected, the centre point of the fresh devastation was Winchester and it appeared he had managed to destroy the device which was potentially the source of the creatures egress into Pegasus. Castiel turned on the camp light, filling the dark room with shadows and golden light. Dean had fallen awkwardly in an ungainly sprawl and James whispered that he needed to be careful about a spinal injury.

Kneeling down next to the unconscious human, Castiel touched his charge softly, careful not to add to any bruise or injury. Though diminished in power, he could none the less sense the deep injuries from the hell dimension and the fresh trauma from the explosion. Dean Winchester was not breathing and his heart was faltering with an erratic, unhealthy beat.

_CPR_

Castiel recalled James’ memories of a CPR course, of learning for his daughter’s sake. As ever, the memories of his daughter and wife were accompanied by recollections of the car crash and their deaths. Novak’s sadness was poignant.

_Tip his head back. Lift his chin._

Once James was satisfied, Castiel began rescue breathing. Winchester’s chest rose and fell. His pulse remained erratic. His spirit must not flee to Heaven. Its arrival would be a signal to Raphael’s faction and they could retrieve his body and return him to Zachariah newly resurrected. James’s memories reassured him that rescue breathing could take time to be effective. Unfortunately, there was no help coming, and if this did not work Castiel had limited options.

When he next checked Dean’s pulse, it had stopped. His heart no longer beat. Frowning, Castiel placed his hands in the correct spot and began chest compressions. The placement of his hands had the added benefit that he could verify if Dean’s spirit remained. So far, it did. As before when they had escaped the hell dimension, his consciousness drifted and he dreamt, but Dean Winchester’s spirit remained on this plane.

Startled, Castiel stopped when the life-saving efforts broke one of Dean Winchester’s ribs. The sound was unexpected, a 'pop' as bone gave way.

_It’s normal. Keep going._

The primitive method did not appear to be working. Dean was not breathing on his own and his heart was still not beating. There was a small chance that Castiel may be able to whisk his spirit away if it departed, but his re-entry onto the celestial plane would be challenged. It was not an ideal solution and he did not possess the power to reunite body and spirit. He'd need to somehow keep Dean's spirit with him and that posed its own issues. Ghosts were problematic in their own right.

_Dear God. Please help us._

A little surprised at the sentiment and instinctive response from James, Castiel pondered on the heartfelt prayer. James had been a man of faith prior to the car accident which took the lives of his wife and daughter. Even after that tragedy which had shaken his foundations, made him question much of his faith, Novak still turned to God in his hour of need, still accepted the request of an angel. Such faith was humbling. James had not truly prayed in years, and his faith was shaken. Instinctively though he turned to God.

Faith and prayer were for mortals. Not angels.

_His grace is sufficient._

Without pause, without stopping the repeated ritual of chest compressions and rescue breathing, Castiel nodded in agreement. Dean Winchester’s face was marred and bruised. He had endured so much pain and anguish and yet he kept fighting. Kept trying. Caught in the middle of the machinations of heaven, Dean Winchester was human, frail and easily broken. Yet he endured. Fought monsters, demons and wicked men. A good son. A loyal brother. A friend and a steady warrior.

Softly, in the silence of a long dead world, very far from home, Castiel whispered to his Father, “Your grace is sufficient. Please, if it is Your Will.”

Light flickered over Dean’s face from the camp light, golden hues enhancing the bruises, the cuts. Castiel kept on performing CPR, palms pressing into ribs and chest. A warm glow stirred beneath his hands, lighter and softer than his usual power. It spread up his arms and down into Dean’s chest, a tingling stir, a rush of life. Emotion unlike anything he had felt before pricked his heart and James wept quietly as that emotion reached him.

Beneath his hands, Dean’s heart started to beat and his chest rose as he inhaled deeply.

Blinking a little, Castiel uttered a heartfelt sigh, “Thank you.”

*SGA*SPN*SGA*SPN*SGA*SPN*

The room was quiet. A mix of stunned silence and sheer exhaustion intermingled with nervous tension. Bar for a handful of wounded marines stationed on protective detail, the occupants were scientists and civilians. The combat channels were buzzing with chatter as anxious squads, platoons and details waited to see if the creatures would return. The Colonel was wisely reluctant to pull protection from vulnerable areas. Just because the portals had disappeared did not mean they would not return. Until the sun rose, or McKay would give him a definitive answer, Sheppard planned to keep everyone on standby. That would make for a long, tense night of being on tender-hooks, waiting for something that 'might' happen, but there was no escaping the need.

What was clear however was that the signal was gone. McKay, Zelenka, and various members of their departments checked and triple checked across the sub-space spectrum and not a one could find a trace of the elusive signal which had been blaring out across space for days. Whatever had happened, it had solved that particular issue.

"Winchester did something, I'm sure," Zelenka yawned for the umpteenth time. He was perched on a stool, and clutching a tepid cup of not-coffee, blinking to stay awake. For the first time in days, the kitchen was closed for the night rather than churning out a steady supply of rations for returning and exhausted rescue teams. Supplies were too low and Maguire and his KP duty squad were on watch with every other able-bodied marine. If you were hungry it was MREs or find it yourself. Morning would pose a fresh challenge in feeding the thousands of extra mouths in Atlantis, but most of the refugees had brought their own food. Atlantis's trade network was robust enough to survive extensive Wraith attacks, so starvation was not on the cards by a long shot. Well, if you listened to Rodney McKay, starvation was always an imminent threat on Atlantis which the mess halls ran out of bacon. Zelenka sipped his caffeine-rich but taste-deficient beverage and yawned again.

Over on his side of the desk, Rodney threw up his hands, fed up with repetitive morons and endless frustrations, "I know! I'm sure he blew the device up or something. Despite me ordering him not too. We could have been mauled by a horde of monsters if the explosion opened a portal or made the signal permanent or…." Rodney paused for breath mid-rant, a sure sign of his tiredness and all too perk voice chipped in.

"But it didn't."

Glaring at Charlie who was furiously typing at a laptop a few desks away, McKay growled, "It could have!" He emphasised his point with an angry finger pointed upwards as if representing the possibility of death from above.

"But it didn't."

"YET! It could still happen, we have NO idea what is…

Before Rodney could argue further, she continued to speak, without looking up. "We should be figuring out what happened to the terminal. It was our only means of communication with him and Novak." The fact that she did not look up from her laptop irked Rodney no end.  

"I know!" McKay yelled, and then fought back a yawn which threatened to swallow the whole room. Whirling on his stool a little, needing to express some of the mounting anger he felt, he yelled, "There is zero that we can do from here!" He pointed at the blank terminal screen, with the flashing cursor and message of 'disconnected' like it was a suspect under interrogation. "ZERO! We've tried pinging it, requesting a reverse connection, hacking into a back door, and NOTHING!"

The all caps in his voice was audible even to him and Rodney shouted, "For all we know Winchester's idiot move created a supernova black hole that is even now racing across the Galaxy to swallow us and only the relative distance between wherever the hell he is and Atlantis is preventing us from realising that we are all DOOMED!"

"Black holes can't go supernova, Rodney," Zelenka commented dryly, sipping at his cup, unfazed by the towering example of ire and indignation his friend was demonstrating.

"Yes, they could!" Rodney yelled, then he clearly heard himself, stopped and deflated a little. "Ok, maybe they can't but it's not outside the realm of possibility."

"Yes, it is," Radek interrupted and McKay glared at him.

His words dripped with repressed annoyance, "We barely understand black holes, Radek. Even with all this technology and access to the Ancient Database and spaceships and, and, and we don't really understand them. It is not impossible for a supermassive black hole to swallow the galaxy!"

At this, Zelenka bobbed his head a little as if conceding a point but said, "Considering black holes essentially grow through the absorption of mass, even a supermassive black hole requires the proximity of a star or star cluster to gain in size. A black hole does not grow through the expulsion of energy such as would be generated by an explosion!"

Growing red, Rodney leaned forward, his fingers tight on the edge of the counter, "I know that! I'm saying,… ok, maybe Winchester's moronic mistake wouldn't create a black hole, but maybe it caused a star to go supernova and create a chain reaction which ignites a nebula and we all die in rain of radiation as the wave reaches us." One could tell Rodney did not actually believe that and he was arguing for argument sake, because he was tired and cranky and mean, so Radek just raised an eyebrow that equated to 'really?'

"It could happen!" Rodney shrieked, clearly forgetting his several degrees in astrophysics, actual physics and common sense.

"In Star Wars or Star Trek maybe, Rodney. But not in reality," Zelenka grinned and Rodney puffed up to the figurative size of relative indignation.

"Do not start on the physics of Star Trek again! Star Wars is fair game, but Trek is off limits!"

"You Americans, so blind to the flaws of your pop culture."

"I'm from Canada!"

"Same thing."

Over in his sad little corner, Dr Mancusa stared at his pages of code with a sad expression, clearly disappointed that they had not had a chance to try his solution. It would have taken Winchester a good thirty to forty minutes to enter the stream of code and there was a real risk of typo or single syntax section messing it all up, but the code was beautiful. Charlie had added some truly inspired code to the mix. He was not brave enough, however, to raise his disappointment with McKay nor to interrupt the imminent bloodbath between Dr Zelenka and Dr McKay. Both were too tired and too irritated to see sense. Perhaps if they killed each other, Mr Woolsey would consider him as a replacement for a Department Head. Mancusa turned to watch the spectacle of Zelenka finally ending the tyrannical reign of Dr McKay. Mr Cooper would be so pleased.

"I found it!"

All three of them turned to look at Charlie Bradbury who standing up from her hunch of doom performing some dance of glee. "Ancient Database smack down FTW!" her laptop was connected to the Ancient Database interface and heads-up screen, and between pointing at the screen in triumph and dancing, Charlie was definitely pleased.

Her happiness was infectious and the three scientists more curious than the proverbial cat, so they wandered over, argument and ambitions forgotten. For now.

"What? What did you find?" Zelenka asked.

"You traced the non-existent signal?" McKay snarked.

Mancusa said nothing.

Whirling, arms open in expansive vindication, Charlie beamed, "I found the turtle punchbowl." Like a carnival ride conductor, she waved at the screen and a picture of a device would look a lot like an upside down punchbowl with blue turtles on its surface shone on the heads-up screen.

"What? How?"

"That looks nothing like a punch bowl! What sort of punch bowls did your mothers have?"

Ignoring them all, Charlie tapped her earwig comm. and said, "Charlie Bradbury to Colonel Sheppard. I've located the signal generating device." McKay radiated indignant frustration torn between possible resolution and wanting to know how, so he blurted out, "So, how did you manage that and where is it?!"

Very pleased with herself, Charlie turned back to her laptop, her eyes bright but red, her face alight with triumph and said, "I've been working on a search algorithm for nearly a year, since I arrive really, on improving our searches in the Ancient Database."

"Interesting."

"You have? Why? There is nothing wrong with our current algorithms."

"Other than they don't work."

"Shut up, Radek."

Oblivious to the commentary, Charlie continued, "I knew I just needed to refine it a little, get past the inherent bias of the original algorithm but I never quite had the time, but now, with Dean being lost and all… I figured it out!" She beamed at them again and McKay beat the others to speaking with, "And? Where is he? It?"

Charlie pointed at the screen and nodded in a "can't you see its right there" motion and said, "Last known location was on PX9-GT, where the Ancients were building an installation which seems to have been designated as a base to study some space anomaly."

"What anomaly?"

"Does it have a Gate?"

"What inherent bias?"

Shrugging, Charlie answered Radek, "It doesn't specify what the anomaly was or if it's still there, but the Ancients never finished the base. Date wise it seems close to the start of the Wraith War and was abandoned unfinished. Before Rodney or Radek could interrupt again, the Colonel replied to her comm.

' _Charlie. You got a Gate address? Is it a confirmed location?'_

Shaking her head, even though she knew he couldn't see her, she replied, "Gate address yes. It's an orbital Gate in a system on the edge of the galaxy. This is not confirmed, Colonel. It's the last known location of the device Dean described before…. It's the best we've got so far."

' _Ok, noted. I’ll take a Jumper and check it out. Ronon, Teyla, you coming?'_

Rodney quickly chimed in, "I'm here too! I'm ready to go…"

_'You sure, McKay? Don't you…'_

Ignoring radio protocol and politeness, McKay interjected, "Of course! Abandoned Ancient base. I'm there." Belatedly he remembered to add, "Oh, and to rescue Winchester of course."

"And Novak," Zelenka glared at him.  

"And Novak," McKay huffed.

' _Fine. Meet me in the Jumper bay. I'll radio Carson, we’ll probably need him or Jennifer.'_

Charlie looked like she wanted to join them, her expression a mixture of excitement and nerves. "I could…"

Uncaring, Rodney paused mid-step, whirled back at her and said sharply, "What was wrong with the original algorithm? Quickly, two sentences."

Caught a little off-guard but pleased, she laughed, "Male chauvinism and lack of imagination." At his expression, she laughed again. "I'm kidding, but not really. It was syntax and categorisation assumptions. I assumed differently and changed my syntax. Voila.”

McKay was not pleased but nodded in acknowledgement. “Fine. You can explain it properly later.”

With that rejoinder he ran off, leaving Charlie with Zelenka who fought off another yawn. Nodding at her, he added, “He’s impressed. He’s been moaning about the search function on the interface for years. Even tried to fix it once. It’s good that you have a solution.”

Shooting him a happy smile that was undercut with disappointment, Charlie replied, “Thanks. Just glad I found it. I hope Dean actually is there though.”

“Agreed.”

*SGA*SPN*SGA*SPN*SGA*SPN*

John grabbed the pack of supplies Wallstreet handed him and nodded his thanks. “How are supplies in general? I haven’t time to check any reports if you’ve submitted any.”

Wallstreet shrugged. “We’re fine, Colonel. Luckily this engagement has been light on traditional firearms so the P90s and the ammo stores are all copasetic. What we are running low on are stunners, rechargers and mess hall trays. Dr Beckett is running critically low on medical supplies, though.” Sheppard sighed, scratched his face and winced at the several days' worth of stubble.

“If Woolsey asks, I’m ok with a full Gate to the SGC. Even if the monsters are laying low, we need supplies and I doubt that a Fugly is waiting for the devil’s trap in the Gate room to be removed before a surprise attack.”

“I can’t believe you just said that, Colonel. That’s like tempting Pegasus to do … just that!”

Sheppard grinned. “Bring it.” His very non-regulation stubble, yawn, semi-slashed to pieces, walking-wounded look did not help, but Wallstreet fully believed in his ability to bring the pain on any alien invasion.

Teyla and Ronon arrived, both eating a sandwich and Ronon handed one to Sheppard. “You both good to go?”

Teyla nodded. “We are. Let’s hope that Dean and Novak are indeed on this world.”

Carson joined them a few minutes later, his hair awry, face pale. “Colonel, were are my supplies?” was his opening greeting. Sheppard clapped him on the shoulder and said, “Wallstreet is on it, Carson. Hopefully, this nightmare is over for real.”

“Aye, agreed, Colonel. I could do with a couple of day’s uninterrupted sleep.”

“Where’s Rodney?”

True to form, McKay chose that moment to run into the Jumper bay, face red, tac vest lose. “I’m here, I’m here. Just had to pick up…. Oooh, sandwiches.” Teyla handed him one and he happily bit into it. “I’m good,” he mumbled.

Tapping his comm. Sheppard buzzed Lorne. “Evan, I’m heading out to a possible location on Dean Winchester. Hold down the fort, keep a porch light on.”

‘ _Will do, Colonel. Try not to blow anything up.’_

“Can’t promise anything, Evan.”

 

As John piloted the Jumper from the Gate and into the broad expanse of space, he had to admit to himself that it felt pretty good to be doing something normal like being on an ordinary rescue mission. Piloting a jumper with his team in the back, ready to explore an old Ancient starbase was something he enjoyed and well, they were good at it. The orbital Gate for the star PX9-GT spat them out into what turned out to be the only decent sector of the system clear of space debris.

Rodney jumped into the co-pilot seat as they gated into the system and immediately started tapping on the sensors, scanning the readings and incoming data. “Bradbury said that the Ancients built this base to study a space anomaly but I’m not picking anything up from here. It’s an odd system to put a base in considering. No planets to speak off, just millions of asteroids and planetoids in various belts orbiting a white star.” McKay continued to peer at the sensor readings, seeking something that would indicate why the Ancients had visited this system. It was lifeless, boring and frankly a hazard to pilot in given the erratic orbits of some of the asteroids.  The Ancient starbase blipped up onto the heads up straight away and the sensors confirmed it was on a planetoid larger than Ceres and on the edge of the thicker belt within what would have been the habitable zone. The jumper navigation system plotted several possible flight paths to the planetoid which didn’t even warrant a name on the heads-up. The base, however, did generate a name designation on the Ancient system in the Jumper, which translated to into English as ‘Starbase45’.   

Teyla, Ronon and Carson joined them in the cockpit, crowding in but not getting in the way. The light from the heads-up highlighted the exhaustion in Teyla’s face as she said, “How long will it take us to reach the base?” John scanned the readings, frowning a little. “Not too long. Fifteen minutes maybe.”

“This is an unusual place,” Teyla added, studying the various asteroids around them as Sheppard carefully navigated through the field. Carson nodded, “It is at that. Why build a base here? Unless there are unusual minerals or…”

Rodney cut in with a snort, “Or it was just a secret out of the way base for some Ancient scientist who didn’t want nosy Engineers poking their Czech noses into his stuff.”

Several snorts of amusement answered his comment. They flew on in silence watching the asteroids in idle curiosity. McKay opened his mouth, and Sheppard interjected, “No star wars references, please, Rodney. Nothing about bad feelings or this isn’t an asteroid or…”

Glowering a little, Rodney huffed, sat back in his seat and said, “I wasn’t going to…”

“Yes, you were.”

“I wasn’t…”

“It’s an asteroid field, an entire system of asteroids, Sheppard. If there was ever the time…”

“No!”

“Fine,” Rodney grumbled and returned to poking at the sensor readings. “The base has minimal power it seems, but enough that we’re picking it up. Hopefully, life support can accommodate us long enough to get in and get out.”

“Hopefully,” Carson added drily.

“How big is the base?” Teyla asked, leaning over his shoulder, bumping into Ronon as she did so. The readings from the sensors were extensive and Rodney replied with an unhappy sigh. “Fairly large, I fear. Which is also weird. I mean, it’s not as big as Atlantis, but it extends for several miles and has a couple of sub-levels. Why did they build such a big structure?”

Sheppard, fighting his own feelings of unease, couldn’t help asking, “Any indication that these asteroids are the remnants of planets? The belts are spaced correctly to have been planets in their own orbits.”

Nodding, Rodney agreed. “It’s possible, but I can’t determine if the destruction was natural or…”

“Unnatural.”

Shaking off the unease, Sheppard sighed, “Well, keep your eyes peeled. This is a rescue mission only.”

“And we need to get information on the Trust, if they were at this base, why, and if the machine they were playing around with is well and truly turned off,” Rodney added.

“Yep.”

*SGA*SPN*SGA*SPN*SGA*SPN*

Castiel waited.

He was good at waiting, as he was generally content to observe and allow the flow of mortal and celestial life to pass by while he watched. He had spent years in quiet contemplation whilst on duty and a few minutes on the mortal plane did not really compare.

In the dark, highlighted by the camp light, Dean Winchester lay quietly and most importantly he was breathing and his heart beat a steady, healthy rhythm. He had not regained consciousness, but Castiel was not concerned. If the young man was awake he’d be trying to do something and would invariably hurt himself again in the process. Unconsciousness was best to ensure a proper recovery in his opinion. Idly, Castiel wondered if he should recommend to Dr Beckett that he keep Dean Winchester in a restive state until fully recovered. The doctor may be inclined to agree given Dean's proclivity to find trouble.

Time had passed since the explosion and subsequent darkness, but how much Castiel was not entirely sure. He struggled occasionally with mortal time, not so much enduring it, but rather that it seemed to pass too quickly. He’d get lost in a moment, studying the flight of birds on a distant world and then a Sergeant would be shouting at him about daydreaming or being asleep. Castiel didn’t mind the shouting so much, but it wasn’t always easy living in the limited vessel that was James Novak but it had its benefits. There was a great deal of beauty and life on this plane that you could only experience when you were on it. The celestial plane was beautiful and peaceful, but there was not a great deal of variety. Mortality, however, was bright and vibrant, full of colour and sound and interesting smells. People laughed and joked. They worked together to protect their home. Humanity fought and lived and loved and he felt that he was only just beginning to understand them. So much of what they did was confusing and contradictory and yet… so intriguing.

Overhead the lights flickered, a snap of bluish light. Cautiously, Castiel looked up and squinted at the light fixtures. They flickered again and then illuminated in full. Pleased, Castiel stood up and looked around, scanning the immediate area. While the finer points of how human technology worked eluded him, he understood enough to hypothesise that the return of the lights may be the natural consequence of a reset or it signalled the arrival of an ancient gene carrier. Ancient structures seemed somewhat enamoured with their creators’ progeny and this could signal the arrival of a gene carrier.

Alert for potential trouble, Castiel moved to the nearest doorway and took up position to protect Dean Winchester if needed. The odds were favourable that Colonel Sheppard had found them rather than yet another Trust team, yet it was not impossible for additional Trust operatives to be in Pegasus. He leant against the wall, out of sight from the other rooms and trained his ears for the sounds of approach. He had secured an AK-47 from one of dead Trust mercenaries and held it at the ready. The AK-47 did not have the stopping power or firing rate of a P-90, but it was a better weapon against armed foes than his limited knowledge of human hand to hand combat. Despite appearances, he had not passed basic training and Novak knew little to nothing of unarmed defence.

Fortunately, he heard Dr McKay long before there was a chance for mistaken identity.  He relaxed as the familiar voice echoed through the quiet.

“They should be just up ahead.”

Someone, no doubt Sheppard, shushed him but McKay replied in a still audible tone, “There are only two life signs, Sheppard. If it’s not Winchester and Novak, its still only two people. You and Conan can handle that, surely?”

“Colonel Sheppard!” Castiel called, and stepped out and into the next room. The others caught sight of him fairly quickly and hurried over, and Castiel was pleased to see that Dr Beckett was with them. “Novak! You ok? What happened?” Colonel Sheppard barked as they drew near. Like the proverbial whirlwind, the team descended upon him and filled the once quiet room with noise, bluster and life. While Castiel began to give a truncated report to Sheppard, Dr McKay hurried past them into the room, seeking the machine. Dr Beckett was hot on his heels, but his goal was Dean’s unconscious form.  Tracking both Dr Beckett and Dr McKay as they approached their targets, Castiel reached the part of his tale where he had found Dean Winchester in the hell dimension. Dr McKay’s face was serious but elated as he reached the pieces of the machine. Dr Beckett’s expression was a study in concern and fear as he took in the physical condition of his patient who still looked like he’d been sliced, clawed and dragged through hell. Which he had.

“What in the hell did Winchester do to this?”

“Oh my, what happened to him?”

“Wait wait, say that again, how did you rescue Dean?”

Momentarily distracted by Teyla’s smile as she joined the Colonel, Castiel blinked and met Colonel Sheppard’s gaze. Trying to recall what he had said exactly, he frowned.   _I breached the dimension, gripped him tight and escaped that perdition. Was that sufficiently vague? Should he reveal more? Would the Colonel accept the reality of higher beings and the celestial plane?_

Uncertain if it was a good idea or not, Castiel repeated himself, “I breached the hell dimension, evaded the beasts, gripped him tight and escaped that perdition.”

Colonel Sheppard tightened his grip on his P-90 just a little, and Ronon loomed closer. “And how exactly did you manage that?”

 

Rodney was somewhat, but not completely oblivious to Sheppard’s conversation with Novak, but he was more focused on the pieces of the machine lying scattered over the floor. The room was quite large and the evidence of a fight was still apparent with blood spray on the floor and walls, pools of dried blood marking the messy death of the Trust team. Rodney pocketed his LSD, shot a covert glance at Sheppard’s odd expression and pulled out his tablet with his custom scanner apps and Ancient interface. The mysterious Ancient device was barely recognisable as a machine at all, it was so thoroughly destroyed and as he opened up the scanner apps, they confirmed that no signals of any kind were present, other than the comm. channel from their earwigs. However, he was unable to ascertain anything of value from the scans on the remains. He spotted a tablet several feet away and picked up, pessimistically expecting it to be broken. The screen was cracked but it still seemed functional so he jacked in and scanned the contents. It contained mostly text files with a few pictures of various ancient and alien artefacts, so he copied it all and ran a search for the most recent documents. Hopefully, something would pop up to offer some insight into the Trusts’ overall plans.

He looked at the sharp tone as Sheppard barked, “You’re a what?”

 

The second Carson saw the state of Dean Winchester his pulse quickened and he felt the all too familiar sensation of his stomach plummeting. The poor lad looked like he was at Death’s door and about to cross over. Hurrying over, Carson placed his emergency kit nearby and quickly assessed Dean’s vital signs. As he checked pulse, heart rate, temperature, and respiration, he fought a rising tide of fear as he catalogued the sheer volume of cuts, slices, broken skin, snake-like bruises and trauma visible on the surface. There was no way this kind of damage was only superficial and given the time between when Dean’s disappearance and now, any untreated internal injuries may have progressed past the point of intervention.

Surprised at the stability of Dean’s vitals, Carson felt a glimmer of hope as he progressed to assessing for internal injuries. Pulse, heart rate and breathing were all within acceptable ranges, and while he was a little cold, Dean was nonetheless not exhibiting any immediate concerning indications. Carson gently pulled the rough blanket aside and felt some of his fear drain away. Dean’s torso appeared to have been spared the trauma of the rest of his body and was free of bruises and cuts. Carefully, Carson palpated his abdomen, chest and rib cage. His fingers explored carefully, searching for tender spots, warmth or unnatural give, and while a thorough scan would be required to ensure a complete assessment, Carson found no indications of an emergent need. Pleased, but confused, he muttered to himself as Teyla dropped into a crouch beside him. “Given this level of trauma, you’d expect him to be far worse off.”

Frowning as well, particularly as she studied the vicious cuts and claw marks on Dean’s face, Teyla murmured, “How did he survive this?” With some hesitation, Teyla lifted the blanket and exposed Dean’s legs. Similarly, horrific injuries marked his legs and feet, and Carson grimaced. What on earth had happened to him? Novak had bandaged the more serious cuts and abrasions on his arms but it was still all too readily apparent that Dean had gone through hell. Carson placed his hand softly on the young man’s face and felt his temperature again. Cool and dry, no sign of fever or infection – yet. He was deeply unconscious which was slightly worrying as, given the amount of pain he should be in, his rest should be less thorough. Carson checked for indications of head trauma, running his hands through blood-matted hair, but could not pick up any obvious signs. Dean’s pupils were reactive and normal, a further indication of no immediate concerns.

“Should you try to wake him?”

Glancing at Teyla, Carson shrugged, “Probably, just to assess his cognitive state, but I'd rather do that sort of assessment back at Atlantis, with scanners on hand.” He stared at Dean again, the sick feeling of horror at his injuries growing rather than dissipating. Some of the bruises were already deep blue and purple and very deep. Congealed blood dotted the surface of his skin, and Carson had no doubt that there was deep muscle trauma and damage, and that movement would be very painful. Noting the bottle of antibiotics near the small med-kit Novak had used, Carson checked the label, and satisfied with what he found, looked up to ask Novak how much of a dose he had administered. He hadn’t really been paying attention to Sheppard’s conversation with the Marine, so he was a little surprised to hear Novak say, “I’m an Angel of the Lord, tasked to watch over Dean Winchester.”

Across the room, Rodney scoffed, “Oh please, pull the other one.”

It was not surprising however that Sheppard’s response was to point his P-90 at Novak and Ronon matched the gesture. Teyla was naturally confused, and while she did not point her weapon at Novak, she spoke before Carson could.

“What is an Angel?”

 

John knew his response was a tad excessive but it had been a very long couple of days and honestly, after five years of living in Pegasus announcements like that were not be trusted. Novak did not seem concerned by the response and fortunately, he did not move to strike or … smite them? He continued to stare quite impassively back at him.

“Angel like in earth religion angels or… something…” John asked, not backing away even though he felt like he should.

Rodney snorted but did not speak as Novak replied, “Yes, an Angel in terms of earth religions. I serve the Lord and watch over humanity.” Sheppard felt like there was more to that statement and that while Novak wasn’t exactly lying, he wasn’t being entirely honest or forthcoming. After battling creatures which were burnt by holy water and stopped by devil’s traps, meeting an Angel shouldn’t be that surprising, but then Sheppard had long ago chalked up religion as a scam for idiots and fools. Rodney laughed and stood from his hunch near the remains of the Ancient artefact.

“Please,” he scoffed. “You are not an angel. Probably just an ascended Ancient or something, pretending to be something you think would impress us. There is no such things as Angels.” McKay sounded very certain of himself, as usual, but he was also holding his weapon, ready to react if Novak did anything weird.

“I understand and expected your scepticism Colonel. Whatever you chose to believe, please be assured that I am an ally and pose no danger to you.”

Sheppard studied Novak for a moment, uncertain as to what to do next. They needed to get Winchester back to Atlantis, sure. It bothered him that Novak had been in his City for months, operating under the radar as it were and he did not like the idea of just letting that be. Could he arrest an Angel? Did the guy want to come back to Atlantis or…

Again, Rodney asked the question John was working towards before he could. “Right. If you’re an Angel why did you bring Winchester here? Why not just zap you both back to Atlantis? Why the façade of needing help and… I don’t know…needing to be rescued?”

Novak stared at them both, his silence unnerving. Eventually, he replied, “Events and circumstances beyond the immediate emergency of rescuing Dean Winchester necessitated this course of action. At present, I am unable to ‘zap’ us anywhere. The need to be rescued is real, we should return to Atlantis immediately.”

Before Sheppard could reply, McKay snorted again, “Please. If you say anything about God working in mysterious ways I’m gonna barf.” Slowly, Castiel put down the AK-47 he was holding and put his arms up in the universal gesture of surrender.

“If it helps, I shall remand myself into your custody, Colonel Sheppard. I give you my word that I mean no one any harm and seek only protect Dean Winchester. I am certain that Dr Beckett wishes to return to Atlantis to complete his assessment of Dean.”

John shot Carson a look, who nodded mutely in reply. No doubt the good doctor was as stunned as he was at this latest revelation. Well, it wouldn’t be the first or last time he had to deal with a strange being who claimed to be something weird. Glancing at Ronon who also shrugged, Sheppard grimaced. “Fine.”

McKay made a noise that was both dismissive and irritated but he did not disagree. “McKay is the signal or whatever properly turned off.” Rodney waved a hand in reply and said, “I think so. I’ve got some information and it all seems ok. No signs of a pending black hole or rupture in space and time. I’d like to come back with a full team and do a proper assessment, but sure… we can go.”

Without relaxing, Sheppard turned to Novak and said grimly, “No offence, Novak, but don’t do anything… weird. I’m prepared to give you the benefit of the doubt but this is all just a little too surprising, unbelievable really.”

Novak nodded his expression calm. “I understand. Rest assured Colonel, I am not offended.”

Sighing more to himself than anything, Sheppard cursed internally. How in the blue blazes was he going to explain this to Woolsey?

*SGA*SPN*SGA*SPN*SGA*SPN*

 

To be concluded in Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: I apologise for the longer delay than usual. Upon my beta review of this chapter, I found I did not like the original tone or POV. It was all from Castiel’s POV and wasn’t working. I’ve been fighting it all week and ended up with this version. I’m still not 100% happy as it feels very much a filler chapter rather than a penultimate one. *shrugs*  
> I’ll post Chapter 12 the moment I’ve finished beta reading it.   
> Thank you again for your patience.  
> A secondary note: I know I’ve approached Castiel’s interaction with James differently to canon and similarly, his interaction with God. This is an AU, so I’m ok with that and frankly, my own faith leads me to this sort of depiction.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All stories must end, at some point.

SGA*SPN*SGA*SPN* SGA*SPN*SGA*SPN* SGA*SPN*SGA*SPN*

To say that the atmosphere was tense was an understatement. Sometimes Rodney was oblivious to the general goings-on around him as he focused on more important matters and he often missed key social cues, but after a childhood and adolescence filled with tension and conflict, his emotional sensors were primed to pick up and react to pending drama.

There was a lot of pending drama in the room.

Sheppard was pissed off, naturally. As he should be, what with finding out one of his Marines was an alien posing as an angel. Joy. This raised so many questions around their safety, security, hell, even confidence in being able to notice if someone was a little 'off'. Novak, the idiot alien, was now playing coy and was refusing to answer most of Sheppard's questions. He was sticking with the party-line. Angel of God. Sent to protect Dean Winchester. Pulled him out of Fugly Hell.

And that was it.

Novak was not forthcoming on anything else.

Why? Where there more angels? What was going on? Why was Winchester so important? Did the creatures have anything to do with this?

Fortunately, Novak had willingly handed over his AK-47 but Rodney knew that Sheppard was still worried. Who knew what other abilities or powers the alien was hiding? Angels were known to smite, right?

Ronon was offering armed support to Sheppard as the Colonel tried and failed to badger more information from Novak while Carson and Teyla assessed Winchester.

As much as Rodney really didn't like the guy, he was shocked at his physical condition. The guy looked like he'd been put through a meat grinder and tenderiser. Carson had indicated his surprise that Winchester's vital signs were stable and that he did not appear to have internal injuries, so perhaps miracles accompanied angels after all.

McKay though, despite how vaguely interesting the situation was, and how potentially violent it could become, was focused on the terminal, notes and laptops the Trust team had left behind. He had that familiar itch in his brain that they were missing something or that the other shoe was about to drop or that Wraiths were about to feed. You know, impending doom.

It had started when they arrived in the dead system and no matter how much Sheppard might refuse his need to quote Star Wars, Rodney still had a bad feeling about this. Something wasn't right, so Rodney did was he did best when stressed. Researched.

Starting with the various bloodstained notebooks scattered around the room, Rodney skimmed idiotic entries about mind-control devices, theories that the turtles were conduit points for the signal which would allow the user to control the conscious mind of people near the turtle and possible interdimensional storage space.

One of the notebooks mentioned a secondary device which was in a secure location. Rodney tucked that into his jacket, certain that they would need to investigate it further. Giving up on the notebooks, he turned to the terminal and called up recent entries and logs. Behind him, Sheppard said sharply, "Look, I appreciate the assist, but I need to know if there are more of you on Atlantis."

"You do not need to concern yourself with that, Colonel."

Grimacing and rolling his eyes, Rodney scanned the recent entries. This terminal was connected to a server it seemed or some sort of database. They'd have to find that too before they left. Unlike the Atlantis terminal, this one had full access to all data and Rodney frowned at the list of alien and ancient artefacts, devices and knick-knacks the Trust had logged. They even had a bastardised version of an Ancient dataset. Not the one on Atlantis, as this version was too small, but it referenced Pegasus and based on the last entries was from the Milky Way. Scanning, trying to read as fast as possible, Rodney continued to frown.

This mish-mash of a database or record was from a group of Ancients who had left Pegasus to the Wraith and returned to the Milky Way. It was missing a lot of information but had several entries about the first couple of hundred years when the Ancients were in Pegasus. Before the Wraith. "Eat your heart out, Daniel Jackson," Rodney murmured to himself. Jackson would kill for this information. If Atlantis had these records it was buried in the sheer weight of data complied over millions of years. Because Rodney's Ancient-translation app on his tablet was superior to the Trusts', he was able to decipher a lot of more of the text. That ability was thanks to Jackson, but who cared, really.

Eventually, Rodney found the original entry which had clearly led the Trust to this system and this device. The more he read, the greater the sense of dread pumped into his heart. 'Oh shit,' he whispered. Pausing long enough to pull a laptop over, Rodney typed in a search for the specs of the Starbase, a sneaking, evil suspicion forming. While it searched, he went back to reading, biting his lip as he did so.

It was worse than he thought. Much, much worse.

"Shit, shit, shit!" he said, and turned back to the laptop, opening the spec files. Thank goodness the idiots had had these. Shit.

"Rodney?" Sheppard asked, but McKay ignored him.

Once you had read one Ancient diagram of a base layout, you could read most and while this base was old, far older than he had thought, he found the notation for the control room and mapped a route from this room to there. "Shit!"

"Rodney!" Sheppard shouted. McKay waved at him, "Trouble, big trouble. Just… ah, hang ten."

Peering at the terminal again, McKay read as fast as he could, hoping against hope that he was wrong, that they were not about to die.

Striding over, looming above him, Sheppard demanded, "What is it, Rodney? McKay!"

Reading and ignoring his friend, Rodney cursed, "The goddamn bastard! I told him not to blow it up! I told him! Damnit!" Grabbing his gun, tablet and the laptop, Rodney stood up too fast, crashed into Sheppard and cried, "Come on, come on. I'll need your gene, probably. Come on!"

And with that he ran from the room, trailing papers and notebooks.

Sheppard shot Ronon a startled look, nodded at Novak and then barked, "Teyla, let's go."

They both raced after Rodney, leaving behind a very confused Carson, an expressionless Novak and a pissed off Ronon.

"What happened? What's going on?" Carson asked, paused in the middle of treating a particularly bad looking cut on Dean's neck.

"Better get ready to leave, Doc. Might have to exit quickly," Ronon replied and Carson nodded.

 

Rodney ran as fast his legs would carry him, chest already tight, breath pounding from his chest in time with his heart. Any other time he might be pissed that Sheppard and Teyla caught him easily, but not today. The second he saw Sheppard from the corner of his eye, he yelled before Sheppard could say anything, "I told you! I told you. I have a very bad feeling about this place."

"Rodney! Stop it. What is going on? Why are we…?"

"Idiots! Morons! Imbeciles! Farting nincompoops!

"McKay!"

Turning a corner, checking the awkwardly held laptop, Rodney fought to breathë and talk at the same time. "It's a confluence of idiocy, Sheppard. Sheer stupidity. The Ancients came here to investigate some strange subspace signals." He shot John a knowing look but Sheppard just made a 'get on with it motion'. "When they arrived this system had three Earth-size and type planets. Chock full of prehistoric life, etc. While searching for the source of the signal, or anomaly, whatever, they discovered a fold in space, as it were. A pocket dimension."

"Okay," Sheppard huffed as they turned another corner and ran past a broad, massive window with an incredible starscape and lifeless asteroid view. "Curious, they tried to find a way into the dimension. They built a device, here in this base, which allowed them to open and enter the dimension."

"And the monsters emerged?" Teyla asked, still easily keeping pace with McKay who was flagging. Rodney shook his head. "No, nope. Empty space. Like a cave. So they stabilised it and discovered that this system wasn't the only one that 'touched' the pocket dimension. To cut a long story short and because I skipped a lot of this part, they figured out that pieces of rock from this system allowed a portal to open near it and so they started experimenting. Using the pocket dimension as a waystation as it were, a quick way to cross the galaxy. They made turtles from the rocks, don't ask me why it was turtles and started testing it. Using the Star Gates, they jumped from system to system, I think they were still seeding the galaxy, which makes sense as those turtles were only really found on the 'older' Pegasus worlds."

Pausing, mostly because there was a closed door, McKay breathlessly waved Sheppard to open the door, his gesture flat and exhausted. Angry, Sheppard stomped forward and palmed the door open and Rodney led them into the dusty, long-abandoned control room. Fighting to catch his breath, Rodney gasped, "Sheppard… the controls… uh…"

Scowling, Sheppard initiated the controls, and the room lit up, including a massive heads-up with the entire system displayed. Rodney collapsed onto a dusty chair and started tapping at the controls, which were familiar but oddly retro to the ones on Atlantis. "Why they wanted yet another instantaneous way to travel, I don't know, but anyway. They played around with the pocket dimension for a while, testing and experimenting and then... "

"Something happened?" Sheppard snarled wearily, tried and frustrated.

"Bingo. The idiots weren't paying attention to the wildlife on the planets in this system. Either because they didn't care or just didn't notice, but when one of the Jumpers and this base was attacked by what I can only imagine was a proto-Cthulhu Fugly, shit got real."

Teyla took the laptop Rodney had balanced on his lap and asked, "The creatures were native to this system?"

"Yep," Rodney laughed mockingly. "Evolution at its best. What is it with this galaxy and psychic evil nature? Anyway, the Ancients tried to bug out as things got bad. Clearly, they didn't have demon traps or holy water…"

"Devil traps," Teyla corrected.

"Whatever. Because once the rest of the creatures descended on the base, well… They managed to get an SOS out, but I don't think the guys based here survived. The first few rescue missions died too and there was something about the creatures eating or trying to eat them… anyway." Rodney shuddered and continued to push buttons. Sheppard poked him and snapped, "What's happening? Why are we here?"

Waving him off in a 'wait wait' gesture, McKay muttered, "Nothing, yet, good good. Uhm, so, the idiot Ancients used the pocket dimension at some point in this disaster, the creatures figured it out and started to use it too. They popped out from here and poured out to the other worlds. Luckily, there were no humans in Pegasus yet, but still, we know all about that scary shit. Some bright spark had the idea about trapping them in the pocket dimension. So they did. I skipped the part of how they did it, but they did. And then they turned the machine off."

"Problem over," Sheppard said and McKay nodded.

"Yep. Except the Fuglies or creatures or whatever, destroyed their own system in the process. That's why there are no planets left because whatever the Fuglies did, they reduced their world to rubble. Sucked the life out of it, or … I don't know."

Well and truly frustrated now, Sheppard gripped Rodney's shoulder and growled, "All well and good, Rodney but why are we running around at Defcon 5?"

Annoyed himself, and more than a little scared, Rodney snarled back, "Because that idiot, Winchester there blew up the machine!" At Sheppard's stunned yet uncomprehending expression, McKay shouted, "The machine was turned off. That's what kept the creatures in the dimension. It was off!"

"And the trust turning it on allowed them to escape, but how…" Teyla started, but realisation dawned on Sheppard's face and Rodney threw up his hands.

"Without the machine, there is nothing keeping them inside the dimension. They can come back." Sheppard's voice was layered with all of the anger, frustration, and utter exhausted despair Rodney felt.

"Yep. I don't think the turtles will work anymore, and it won't be the portals, but if they can figure out how to exit the dimension, there is no machine to stop them," Rodney wailed, and his hands flew over the controls. The sensors were old sure, but Ancients made things to last and he had everything turned towards picking inter-dimensional space and subspace.

"Rodney, are you sure?"

McKay shook his head. "No, no. I'm not, but the Ancients picked up the dimension before they built the device. There is no time to figure out how it worked, but that device kept the rift or hole closed. Now? They may not be able to access other parts of Pegasus, but they can come through here."

"Yeah, but into the vacuum of space, Rodney. They'll die."

Fear growing, real worry eating through him, Rodney gulped, "Ah, the little ones, maybe. I think. I think those big ones, the Fuglies, I think they're designed for space. No mouths, no eyes, they don't breath. I think they feed on light and life and … I don't know… I…"

Usually, Rodney loved it when he was right. Usually. In fact, at times he'd go to great lengths to ensure he was proved right. Now, when the heads-up blipped an alert, notifying them that the sensors were picking up an interdimensional rift, well…

"Shit."

Instinctively, he directed the viewer towards the sector of space where the rift was opening. There was no light, no glowing portal. In fact, there was a shape of growing blackness, as if it was swallowing the stars behind it, and then… because life hated him and Pegasus was out to kill them, one tentacle, then another and then a giant massive head appeared. Scarred, crisscrossed with lines and markings, the Fugly’s head emerged.

"Shit," Sheppard and McKay said in unison.

SGA*SPN*SGA*SPN* SGA*SPN*SGA*SPN* SGA*SPN*SGA*SPN*

Castiel watched as Dr Beckett prepped Dean to be transported back to Atlantis. Ronon remained vigilant, his weapon pointed unerringly towards him, but Castiel was not bothered by the attention. Dr Beckett did not appear overly concerned about Dean's immediate health, which was good, but he had already remarked several times that Dean had a long road to recovery ahead of him. Some of the muscle damage would require PT, whatever that was, and he may have circulation issues going forward.

 _Physical therapy_ James supplied and Castiel nodded to himself.

Dr McKay, Ms Emmagen and the Colonel had been absent for some time, and Castiel hoped that they would return soon so that Dean could reach Atlantis without any further delay. An unaccustomed pressure was weighing on him and Castiel would not pinpoint the source or possible cause. Ronon too seemed somewhat on edge, casting glances around the room, eyes darting to cover all entrances and avenues.

An unpleasant notion dawned on Castiel as he shifted uneasily under the growing pressure. Was this a sign of Heavenly surveillance? Had he been discovered? Dean Winchester was in no condition to fend off a single angel, let alone a garrison. Cautiously, Castiel extended his consciousness beyond the immediate area, searching for a clue as to the nature of the inter-dimensional pressure.

He did not have to look very far.

The reason for the familiarity was also abundantly clear. One of the massive creatures from the Hell Dimension was making its way into this reality. Again. Frowning, Castiel examined the rip in time and space from which the beast was slowly emerging. It felt old, primaeval even. The beast was using its own bulk, which was far more considerable than Castiel remembered to force its way through. Distantly, he felt the hunger and hate emanating from the beast, its maddened need to gorge itself on life and light.

Blinking, Castiel returned to the small room on the ancient starbase, momentarily confused as he settled into a mortal shell again.

"What's going on?"  Dr Beckett asked, his broad Scots accent deepening as he looked up at Castiel and Ronon. The large Satedan, however, was listening intently to his comm., a grim expression on his face. Before Castiel could reply, Ronon growled, "A big creature is coming through a portal, over near one of the larger asteroids. We need to bug out, now."

"Quick, grab the other end of the stretcher, lad," Carson barked, but Ronon hesitated, his attention on Castiel. Torn between keeping him under guard, and helping the doctor, Ronon clearly didn't want Castiel near Dean either.

Castiel appreciated the sentiment, the desire to protect his friends. He was about to offer to carry the stretcher when a clear impression formulated itself in his mind. It was almost like a voice spoke to him, but there were no words, nothing audible, no actual speaker. Rather it was like the idea planted itself in his mind, and he knew with absolute certainty what he needed to do.

Quietly, James answered his unspoken question: _I'm coming too. I want to see my family again._

And with that, the decision was made.

In the heartbeat it took to receive inspiration and make the decision, Castiel's expression turned from one of concern to one of hopeful resolution. Catching Ronon's eyes, he spoke clearly as if he were delivering a message. "Keep him safe. Don't trust any strangers near him. He is more important than we realise."

Ronon's expression morphed into one of confusion and anger, but Castiel merely summoned what little power remained, and vanished.

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John tapped his ear-wig to reply to Ronon. "What, he just vanished?"

_"Yep. White light, and gone. Told me to look after Winchester, then gone."_

Frowning, feeling more than a modicum of concern and fear, Sheppard slammed his fist onto the workstation table near Rodney and growled, "Damnit. We don't have time for this. Just get Winchester and Beckett to the Jumper. We'll meet you there in five."

Rodney, however, was shaking his head, even as he typed furiously on the console. "No, no, Sheppard. I need more than five minutes. This place has defences and I'm sure I can figure a way to route power to the batteries. We can't let it into our reality, Sheppard!"

Signing off from Ronon, who was at least obeying instructions, John snapped, "It's far enough away that'd we'd get to the Gate before it got anywhere near this base. It's not like they come with built-in impulse engines, Rodney!"

McKay shook his head vigorously, "So we just let them in? Not a good idea, Sheppard."

"There is nothing in this system, Rodney. Nothing! It's a dead wasteland. No life, no planets, nothing."

"There's a Star Gate. What if they figure out...?"

"McKay? Really! Monsters will figure out how to dial the Gate? Are you being serious?"

Rodney glared at him, "You want to take that chance? ‘Cos I sure as hell don't. They were enough of an issue for the Ancients that they trapped them in that pocket dimension. I'm not taking any chances, Sheppard. The last thing we need is another alien species trying to eat us!"

Silent up to now, Teyla placed a calming hand on Rodney's shoulder but she spoke to John more than Rodney. "Considering their vast mental or psionic abilities Sheppard, perhaps we should not discount the possibility of them using the Star Gate. After all, they blocked out the sun on several worlds and hid themselves almost in plain view until ready to attack. I think Rodney should at least try to stop them."

Unable to disagree, but growing increasingly fearful that they were already out of time, Sheppard grimaced, "Fine. How much longer Rodney?"

As expected, McKay had not stopped working even while arguing, so he bit out with a self-pleased grin, "Launching a barrage now. Straight for the head."

All three of them watched the golden balls of Ancient ordinance streak across the empty vacuum towards the rift. The Fugly was far larger than any other they had seen, and it seemed to be growing even as it emerged. The readings on the heads-up were updating continually as tentacles and a leg emerged. Fortunately, they were far enough away that they couldn't hear its scream. Taut with tension, they watched as the ancient weapons drew near enough and arced towards the head.

The Fugly swung its head towards the missiles and a ripple of energy visible even in space struck the missiles. There was no sound, naturally, but the weapons disintegrated, collapsing rather than exploding.

"Oh shit," McKay hissed, even as he launched more.

A wave of vile, putrid hatred battered them like a punch, and Sheppard and Teyla staggered back, clutching their heads, crying out. McKay hunched over the console, eyes watering in agony as the attack split open his mind, scattered his thoughts and ripped through him.

On his knees, Sheppard opened his mouth in a wordless scream, trying to keep his mind intact, fighting the pressure that was pummelling him. Seconds felt like an eternity as psionic knives pierced his brain, driving him to the brink on unconsciousness.

At the console, Rodney wailed in agony as blood streamed from his eyes, and ears, while Teyla struggled to keep her feet, her teeth gritted in a grimace of pain.

By chance, Sheppard glanced up through blurred vision and saw a streak of white heading towards Fugly. Its flight path was projected to collide with the rift, and as abruptly as the attack began, it stopped. Blessed relief followed the absence of the pain, and Sheppard wiped his eyes, unsurprised to see red mixed with water. Staggering to his feet, he helped Rodney straighten. "What is that?"

Unaffected by the psychic attack, the sensors automatically tracked both Fugly and the white streak, trailing a path like a comet through space. Reacting to his unspoken command, the sensors zoomed in on the white glowing dot. It was Novak. There was no mistaking the BDUs or dark hair as he flew faster than a Jumper towards the Fugly.

"What is he doing?" Teyla stammered, wiping her face as she leant against John for support.

A sinking, guilt-ridden emotion bloomed in Sheppard's chest. He'd been pissed beyond belief to discover that Novak was an alien and that he was claiming to be a damn angel. Creatures from another dimension was one thing, angels were just a step too far. Right now though, watching Novak's headlong dive, Sheppard couldn't help feeling a mix of regret and anger. "He's saving us."

"What?" Teyla's expression was horrified.

On the screen, Fugly turned to face Novak. It was almost fully emerged and more heads were poking out behind it, tentacles swaying in the vast vacuum. It sent a wave of energy at Novak, again visible like a wave, but Novak's path did not alter, nor did he falter.

It was almost anti-climactic.

Without pause, without much fanfare or drama, Novak struck the Fugly full on. A blinding light filled the screen and Sheppard and Teyla covered their eyes, gasping in pain. It took a moment or two before the sparks and after-images cleared and when they stared up at the screen, the rift was gone.

A random tentacle floated in space, dismembered and dead. No Fugly. No Novak. Nothing.

Just the empty dark of a dead system on the edge of the Pegasus Galaxy.

"He closed the rift," Rodney stammered, peering up through blood-red eyes. "It's gone. Nothing on the sensors, no subspace signal, nothing."

Softly, her voice full of emotion, Teyla sighed, "Do you think he's dead?"

Staring at the blank tableau, Sheppard found himself hoping that Novak was alive. Somehow.

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The first time Dean regained consciousness, it took him a good long while before he figured out where he was. His vision was blurry, his ears were stuffy and blocked, and he could barely move his arms or legs. Lying on soft sheets, head cushioned by numerous pillows, he slowly figured out he was in the infirmary. Again.

Probably for the first time in his life, Dean was relieved to wake up in a hospital.

The infirmary on Atlantis was full of light, and the staff often opened up the windows to let in the fresh sea air. Between the heavy pain medication and the sound of the ocean lapping at the structure of the City, Dean did not stay awake very long.

The only real conscious thoughts he had were, _Thank God. Where's Castiel?_

If he dreamt, he did not remember them. This too was a boon, as there was a very real chance that his dreams would be full of demons, alien and human, Andrews and lots of pain. Instead, each time as Dean emerged from unconsciousness or sleep, he was greeted with the lazy, wonderful sensation of opiates, blissful quiet and the hum of content humans.

Eventually, the emotions of the City invaded his sleep, and he woke more frequently, buoyed up by the relief and excitement of its population. Rather than regain consciousness, Dean _felt_ the arrival of the relief party from the SGC. Fresh faces, food from earth, needed medical supplies and the spirits of the Marines and Atlantis personnel lifted. He _felt_ the happiness of the refugees as they left, grateful for the help provided and that in end, they had survived. Like most Pegasus natives, they were very practical and pragmatic about death. They grieved but moved on quickly. Dean _dreamt_ with others the deep sleep of exhaustion and _felt_ Jones, Sanchez, Kim, Durov, even Teldy as they regained strength, caught up on sleep, and returned to normal routine matters. The Marines held an impromptu water-balloon launching competition on the West Pier. It seemed that even during the running battles, various squads had declared themselves 'Best Holy Hand Grenade Launchers' and to settle the matter, Lorne, and a few other officers encouraged a competition to settle the matter.

It might have been his imagination, but it felt like Dean was there, watching. He could feel the wind on his face, the crash of waves on the pier, the peaks and spikes of delight and joy as water balloons (mostly still latex gloves) arced towards targets and landed with a satisfactory splash. One of the squads under Lorne's command won, hands down, and between the cheers and jeers from the losers, Chuck blasted out an AC/DC anthem. Dean drank in the ambient emotion, the rising swell of contentment and joy at being alive, at surviving yet one more disaster, another monster.

He _walked_ through the corridors, syphoning off negative emotions, boosting positive ones, chasing away troubled dreams, bolstering flagging spirits. Woolsey slept at his desk a lot, a scabbed over cut on his forehead which would no doubt scar. Wallstreet had his feet up on his desk, happily browsing on his tablet, re-arranging his trades, shipping schedules and planned harvests. Teyla played with Torren, smiling as her son laughed at Ronon's inept bridge building skills. In the labs, argumentative contentment reigned, as engineers, physicists, biologists and scientists moved their equipment back to their own spaces, unpacked the data from the sensors on Atlantis and the starbase, debated about ancient Hebrew mathematics and applied inter-dimensional calculus. Maguire was taking a needed break from the kitchens, and along with many squads of Marines and Gate teams were undertaking the extensive clean-up operations needed. Devil traps to be removed, salt lines to be swept away, order to be restored. In Control, Chuck and Mikilai were preparing for the morning surf report, which would be brief as all shore leave was still cancelled.

Curious, Dean _searched_ for Colonel Sheppard and found him asleep in the Infirmary. He didn't appear injured, but he was close by and Dean found that oddly comforting. Occasionally, when a nurse entered his enclosed area and checked on his IVs, his stats and him in general, Dean would return to bare awareness. Each nurse would smile at him and murmur something, but awareness was always fleeting and Dean would return to sleep or to _wander_ Atlantis _._

There was no trace of Castiel.

Surprised at how much this bothered him, Dean _searched_ amongst the Marines, checked empty corridors, and eventually climbed the Central tower to the very top and stared out over the vast Lantean Ocean. It was nearing sunset and he had no idea how many days it had been since Castiel saved him. Most sunsets on Lantea were beautiful, as the moisture-rich atmosphere generated more than enough clouds to paint the skyline with a picture of fiery magnificence. Dean watched the fires of sunset fade to twilight, the heavens darkening to purples, blues and then the black of night. Stars appeared, a swath of celestial glory revealing itself as the world turned.

Standing there under the skies of an alien world, millions upon millions of miles from Earth, Dean recalled the times he and Sam had stopped on a deserted country road and just watched the skies. Beers in hand, the hood of the Impala cooling as they sat on it, the quiet peace of the moment washing over them.

Sam.

Dean stared up at the stars, wondering which one was Sol. Could he even see Sol from here?

_Dean._

The voice was distant. Soft.

_Dean._

Reluctantly, Dean turned at the call. It was so peaceful here, above the City, buried under the stars.

 _Dean_.

A tug. Gentle. Worried.

Sighing a little, Dean let the pull draw him back, back to the Infirmary and his body.

_Dean._

 

He _felt_ Charlie before he physically saw her. Warm and golden, her presence was tinged with relief and worry. Worry for him. "It's been two days, dude. I think it's' time you woke up."

Reluctantly, slowly, Dean opened his eyes and a blurry Charlie swam into view.

"Hey," she smiled, as she gently squeezed his hand. Looking down at her hand on his, Dean was vaguely surprised to see long snaking bruises on his arm and hand. Scabbed over cuts and holes dotted his skin and memories of the monsters' hell crowded his sense of peace.

Charlie, however, smiled reassuringly back at him, her gentle empathy _pushing_ and _quieting_ the fear that rose in his throat. "You are safe, I promise. Doc was just concerned. Your brain activity indicated that you should have been awake, so…"

Smiling hurt, so Dean kept his grin to a twitch of the lips. Rather than speak, he _pressed_ Charlie's empathic field and thanked her. A little startled, Charlie beamed back. "You're welcome."

Dean glanced around and picked up Carson hovering nearby. In fact, the Doc was close enough to see the monitors attached to Dean, and his smile was as broad and relieved as Charlie's. Fortunately, communicating with another empath was quick and easy, so he _flooded_ Charlie with questions. Her smile dipped a little, but she said quietly, "Novak saved you, and the Colonel's team I believe. There was a rift and a Fugly was coming through, but Novak, uhm, I guess, he flew into the rift and closed it. McKay has had a team in the system to set up a remote watch station and get all of the Trust equipment. There is no sign of Novak or the Fugly. They are monitoring the space near where the rift was though."

Somehow, this news did not surprise Dean, once he heard it. A stir of emotion he could not name leaked through his shield and Charlie frowned. "I, I don't know, Dean. If he was an angel, or an ascended ancient or just an alien or whatever, maybe he survived. Hopefully, he did." Dean nodded and sighed.

The painkillers were wearing off and some of the deep, muscle deep aches that laced through him must have shown on his face because Charlie grimaced. "I'll be quick. Doc says you'll be here for a while. A week at least. The bruises alone are…" Her bright expression faltered, and some of the worry, fear for him leeched from her field. Dean squeezed her hand. Smiling weakly, Charlie continued, "Everyone else is ok. The SCG sent supplies and even though there are lots of questions about devil traps, they didn't seem surprised about inter-dimensional portals and monsters. Uhm, I think McKay still wants a better explanation though. Don't worry, between the Colonel and me we'll wrangle him. Uhm, oh." Here her voice dropped and Charlie whispered, "Everyone is being super cool about us Empaths. Hell, in fact, I feel like a mini-celebrity. I've only caught one weird glance and spike of fear, but on the whole, they are all… uh... fine with it. Woolsey said he had no intention of communicating anything to T&E. He was, uh, quite angry when he thought about them."

Dean nodded, pleased and relieved. He hadn't even really given this facet much thought. A spike of worry and fear from Charlie derailed his own thoughts. Concerned, he _asked_ her what was wrong and Charlie paled, before leaning even closer.

"I'm sorry, Dean. Well, no, uh… I'm not, erk... Uh…"

A little worried now and _letting_ her know that Dean tried to sit up, which hurt like a bitch. Wincing, his monitors noted the increase in his heart rate so Dean braced himself. _What_? _What was wrong_? Everyone had been fine, hadn't they?

Aware she was making things worse, Charlie waved off Beckett who had stepped closer. Scowling a little, embarrassment coloured her field, but there was an underlying note of pleased delight. "I should have waited till later, but hell, you're a frigging level 1 empath, you'd figure it out and I'd rather tell you than you know… sense it." Dean stared at her, surprised at some of what she was feeling.

Blushing, her pale skin turning bright red, almost as red as her hair, Charlie sighed, "Anne and I kinda, uhm, hooked up. Last night."

Confused, Dean waited until Charlie continued, "Look, she was as surprised as me, I think. I mean, I knew she was jealous of me, and I thought she didn't like the fact that I like you." At Dean's smirk, Charlie squeezed his hand and shot him a _'shut up_ ' empathically. "Look, I like girls. I like girls a lot but… maybe. Maybe I'm a little bi when it comes to you. It's those lips, I think. Oh, stop smirking like that!"

Dean laughed softly.

"Anyway, Anne and I were talking last night, we were worried about you and well… somehow we started making out and… well…" Charlie blushed even harder and for the first time, Dean wished he was telepathic as well as empathic. But that would be creepy on too many levels so instead, he croaked out a dry, "Cool."

Somewhat disgusted by the arousal she was picking up from him, but also somewhat turned on herself, Charlie reached out to flick him or smack his arm, stopped herself in time and muttered, "This is why I don't like men. You think anything lesbian is hot. We are not having a threesome!"

This time Dean's smile hurt his face, a lot, but he couldn't help it. Through their shared empathic field, Dean _projected_ that he was ok with Teldy hooking up with anyone, but he was especially ok with her hooking up with Charlie. He was totally ok with a threesome.

Charlie stared at him, her emotions warring with each other and it was a sign of trust that she did not shield them from him. In response, Dean let down his own shield a little, enough that Charlie smiled and laughed. "You're incorrigible! Asshole," she said affectionately. With that, she bid him farewell, squeezing his hand one last time before leaving him to the anxious Carson Beckett.

"Well, son, let's check those sutures. I'll be brief."

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Sheppard motioned for Carson to join him after the doctor finished checking Winchester. Beckett nodded and after sanitising his hands sat in the chair next to John's bed with a groan. "Ah, I still feel like I could sleep for days," he gasped.

Nodding in agreement, Sheppard motioned towards the curtains which hid Winchester. "I know the feeling. How's he doing?"

Carson shrugged, "As well as could be expected, Colonel. He is healing, but the damage is so extensive. He's going to be a guest here for more than a week, longer if I can help it." He ran a hand over his face and fought a yawn. "I take it he's the reason you are lurking in my infirmary when normally I can't keep you here longer than two seconds."

Smiling wanly, Sheppard sat up, his be-socked feet falling off the edge of the bed. "That and I can't bring myself to face the paperwork the last week has generated. General Landry expects a detailed report asap. I'm hoping Lorne will write it for me."

"Think again, Colonel. Your XO is either sleeping or hiding – same as you."

They shared a wry grin, before John sighed, "I am very worried about the depth and extent of the Trust operation in Pegasus and its clear indication of how deeply they have infiltrated the SGC, again."

"Aye, I agree, Colonel. Rodney was telling me that it appeared that the Trust had been on PX-whatver for months, if not close to a year. What are they doing? Have we seen the last of them?" Beckett winced a little as he straightened, rubbing his neck to ease the stiffness. John shrugged and shook his head.

"Landry is running a covert op to identify any moles, but that's a long-term plan. We need to up our game here, I think."

"How?" Beckett asked, his expression worried. "Pegasus is a massive place, Colonel. It's easy for the Trust to hide, as it is in the Milky Way."

Again, John shrugged, "You got me. We'll talk about it, just a close circle of trusted people. See what we can come up with." Carson nodded and fought a yawn. For a moment, they sat together as friends and colleagues, the night breeze stirring the curtains and filling the room with fresh, cool air. All critical patients had been cleared and only the one serious ICU case was in isolation, a poor Marine who had been severely savaged whilst battling on Röhn II.

John's attention, however, was drawn to Dean, who had drifted to sleep again. His bed was mostly obscured by the privacy curtains, but he could see his face through the slit, the massive amount of bandages and signs of trauma. It was all too easy to recall the shock of seeing Dean Winchester for the first time on the Starbase. The guy had looked like he'd been put through a wood-chipper, and run over by a truck. It was a miracle that he was still alive. Dark, deep bruises covered every inch of skin, bar his chest and torso. Disturbing, all too vivid cuts, holes and slashes stirred a continued sympathetic response in him. Sheppard had no idea what ordeal Dean had endured with the monsters, but the evidence told enough of the horror. Winchester had not been conscious enough to anwer questions and Novak… well… he was gone.

He didn't really want to ask Carson this question, but he did anyway. "Doc, can you tell? I mean, what do you know about his injuries? What happened to him?"

Beckett looked uncomfortable, uneasy even. "That's a tough one. As far as I can tell, the healing Novak performed saved his life as there was no internal damage to his organs. Based on the bruises and other injuries, it looks like he was impaled multiple times, and bitten and clawed a great deal. I’m sure they were eating him alive at one point. It would have traumatic to say the least, Colonel. Why do you ask?"

John mused quietly, rubbing his chin, eyes still fixed on Winchester. "Forewarned is forearmed. Even trained soldiers struggle to handle the aftermath of torture and the kind of experience he had. Dean's an empath. I guess I'm asking if we should consider isolating him or keeping him sedated if he regains consciousness and plunges us all into the depths of emotional hell. I don't know, Carson. I mean, he says Galveston was a lie. He says he can't force anyone to do anything, but honestly, who knows what he could do under duress or immense stress."

Stiffening, eyes flashing with anger, Carson bit out, "You're not thinking of sending him back to Earth, Colonel! Because, if you are, I can…."

Sheppard interrupted smoothly and quickly, cutting Beckett off, "No, no. Definitely not. Hadn't crossed my mind. I think between Charlie and Maguire we should be able to handle any empath stuff, and Teyla isn't affected by him. No, not Earth."

Beckett settled, his shoulders dropping as tension leeched out, and the air seemed to clear. "Good. Because I would not wish T&E on my worst enemy. Have you heard anything further from Agent Gibbs?"

Sheppard shook his head. "And I'm not likely to. He's got no idea where I'm based and with this Trust thing, I've been reluctant to use the usual covert channels to reach out."

"But are they still planning on launching a federal investigation into T&E?" Beckett asked, again fighting a yawn.

"I assume so. We can't play a role, of course, but the last email I got indicated that they were working with an FBI division and some hacker group to launch a social media campaign or something. Gain public favour for empaths and expose the violation of basic human rights."

"Good," Beckett sighed. "About bloody time. The rest of the world hasn't been as idiotic as the US, as usual, about empaths. Sure the States have had the most natural cases of empaths, but come on, T&E is practically draconian and illegal in its behaviour. It's no wonder we have a handful of empaths hiding out here. I always wondered why Aiko had applied to Atlantis. His career would have been better served by staying on Earth."

John nodded and returned to the early topic of Dean's health. "I need you to keep Rodney away from Winchester, Carson.  Now that he's had time to sleep and think things through, he's determined to find out more about how devil traps work and holy water and what not. I don't want Winchester getting agitated… just in case."

At this, Carson agreed, "Oh, aye. I'm ok with that. I'll foist him off on Jennifer as usual and have Biro ban him from this wing. What of the wee dragon?" Confused, John stared at him.

Smiling a little, Carson nodded at the small cage in his office. "The wee dragonet Winchester brought from Mitchell's Folly. Xeno-zoo said it's healed up and ready to go home."

Unconcerned, Sheppard shrugged, "Wait for Winchester to wake up and then tell him. Can't hurt can it?"

With that, Sheppard got up, thanked Carson again and departed, leaving the Infirmary to its quiet, restive night.

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Colonel Cameron Mitchell tapped on General Landry’s door and said, “You wanted to see me, sir?” Landry waved him inside with a cheery smile as he put his coffee to one side. “Come in, Colonel. Come in. Shut the door, please.”

Taking a seat, Mitchell settled back into the chair, and said, “I hope this isn’t about Jorgensen’s report, sir. I told the man not to skimp on the details, but he was determined to go for brevity.” Shaking his head, Landry said, “No, no. I left Mayfair to deal with that. This chat is strictly off the record and on the down low, Colonel.”

Intrigued, Mitchell sat forward a little. “OK.”

Landry fidgeted with some papers on his desk before saying, “Do you enjoying surfing, Mitchell?”

Cam shook his head, “I’ve tried it out, and enjoyed it. But I can’t say that I’m an expert or major fan. Much prefer flying, sir.” Snorting a little, Landry shrugged, “Well, I’m sure you could find something to do in Hawaii.”

“Hawaii?”

Steepling his fingers, Landry sighed, “I need you to take a vacation to Hawaii. Do a little off-book snooping while you are there.”

More than a little confused, Cam raised one querulous eyebrow and Landry continued, “Recent events on Atlantis have provided some intel on an ongoing Trust operation. There is a good chance that there is a Trust cell on Hawaii searching for or in possession of an Ancient device. We think they are planning on turning it on once they hear from the team in Pegasus.”

Scowling a little, Cam mused, “Which I guess they are not doing to do. I suspose Sheppard has taken out the team, or something.”

“Or something. The team is dead, mostly as a result of their own stupidity. I’m sending a couple of teams to other possible locations in the Milky Way, but I need someone senior, who I trust, to check out Hawaii. It may not be the same device, hopefully, it's not, but either way, I need you to check it out.” Landry’s expression was worried, his mouth tight with concern. Mitchell straightened his hands on his knees.

“Happy to help, General. I assume you’ll send along some scanners and tech for support?”

Landry nodded, “Of course. I’m hoping the intel from Pegasus is outdated, as the idea of yet another Trust team on Earth worries me.”

“How long do I have?”

“A couple of weeks. You’ll fly in rather than beam down. I don’t want to risk alerting any alien tech on the island. Use your discretion, Mitchell. Just don’t cause a ruckus with local LEOs, please.”

Laughing a little, Mitchell sat back and said, “Like Sheppard did last time?”

Not amused, Landry scowled. “Yes. Don’t do that. Understood?”

“Understood, sir.”

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In retrospect, perhaps, it was Rodney's fault. How was he to know that the 'wee' dragon had grown very attached to one Dean Winchester?

Nor was he to know that Carson had let it out to stretch its wings so that it would stop chirping and squawking.

McKay, however, did not find the experience of being savaged by a miniature pterodactyl at all pleasant, and his yowls were loud enough to wake the dead.

The one upside was, Dean regained full consciousness and didn't splatter any one's brains on the walls in the process.

Trying not to smile too wide or laugh too much, Carson escorted an irate McKay from the Infirmary and left the dragon to grumpily curl itself up on Dean's chest, a fierce, albeit tiny, defender. Smiling himself, Dean closed his eyes and dreamed.

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Fin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am somewhat horrified about the length of time between when I finished Stolen and now (2017) when Scarce Skills has finally been completed. A lot has happened in my life in the intervening years and oddly, I read less fanfiction and I write less. I am however in a happier space emotionally so perhaps writing will become easier.   
> I am amazed and delighted that you, oh intrepid reader, have stuck with me for so long on this journey. I know it's not over and I have no intention of abandoning you (fear not). Subject Matter Expert will be finished soon and then there will be two more stories, one more with Sam and then… the concluding story. There will be seven stories in the series in total. Not seven different crossovers as I originally planned but seven stories at least. Then, it will be over and there will be no more in this verse.   
> Well, I say that but I’m contemplating writing at least 3 missing scene ficlets. So far, on my list is:  
> 0.1 – A snapshot of Dean’s life at T&E before ‘Unwanted’  
> 2.1 – A scene or two of Dean’s journey on the Al-kesh with the three Trust Kinetics  
> 4.1 – a little scene or three of Dean’s recovery and possible pursuit of romantic evening with Charlie and Anne (LOL)  
> Please feel free to comment on any missing scenes you’d enjoy. I can’t promise I’ll write them, but they may shape some ideas.   
> As a child I told myself stories at night, imagining adventures for my favourite characters (both original and not) and I have told myself the story of Dean the Empath many times. Story seven will end on a happy, conclusive note and then, we can leave this iteration of Dean to his life. If I post the ficlets, I’ll do so before the concluding chapter of story 7.   
> This note more than anything is a thank you, to you. As a fanfic reader, I know all about the frustration of WIPs that are never finished or take forever to post new updates. Thus, I really appreciate your patience and endurance with this series. All I can really, genuinely offer you is my gratitude for your perseverance and patience and my heartfelt thanks for your comments, reviews, notes of encouragement and demands for me to post more often, and writer faster.   
> Thank you so very much. *bows humbly and hands you flowers*


End file.
